


Der Reisende am Wegesrand

by x_art



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-09 19:24:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 73,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10419525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: But, that’s what kept him going, what kept him tethered to the mansion, those little moments of possibility and—God help him—hope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, that’s what kept him going, what kept him tethered to the mansion, those little moments of possibility and—God help him—hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the second chapter for notes and translations

 

 

Der Reisende am Wegesrand

(The Traveler by the Wayside)

 

 

 

 

___________________________

 

1973

 

 

It was almost embarrassingly easy to get out of D.C.

After his overly dramatic exit from the crumbling stadium, Erik returned to his motel room to change his clothes, attend to his neck, and plan. It was a pain in the ass, sewing up the wounds left by the plastic bullets. Mirrors and experience aside, he sweated and cursed, only realizing when he was almost done that his mind was only half on his needlework. His true focus was on the door—surely someone must have spotted him flying low over the trees to where his stolen car was parked? Surely someone must have notified the authorities?

His wait was in vain. As afternoon turned slowly to night, nothing came except an argument from the couple next door. He listened to them shout, finally deciding he was safe for the moment and then packed, stuffing his costume and a tiny bottle of purloined shampoo in the bottom of his suitcase. When he was finished and the room was as anonymous as he’d found it, he wrapped an ascot around his neck and then left.

The stolen car was a problem, one Erik solved by driving to a crowded truck stop and leaving it. A quick call to a taxi company and thirty minutes later, he was on his way to Dulles.

Even then he was on alert for public service announcements over the cab’s ancient radio. Dragnets with car-to-car searches wouldn’t be out of the question considering the mess he’d made of the White House. But there were no alerts, no roadblocks. It was almost insulting, the lack of police activity. So much for inciting terror, so much for the great Magneto.

When the driver pulled up to the curb, Erik paid the man and got out. With no proper time to strategize, he’d thought vaguely of South America. Now, standing amid a stream of preoccupied travelers, he was overcome with a sudden weariness and frustration. The former because lifting an entire stadium across city had been exhausting, the latter because he wasn’t fond of spur-of-the-moment. He was a schemer and a preparer, sometimes taking weeks to mount a campaign. It had been, he’d found, the best way to satisfy his objectives. Running higgledy-piggledy all about was for the idiots of this world and he wasn’t an idiot.

Irritated at his own indecisiveness, he started for the nearest set of doors and then stopped. So here it was, his police activity. Standing off to the side was a small phalanx of police officers and search dogs. The officers weren’t doing anything other than examining the crowd but there was no way he’d fool them—two of the officers were holding pieces of paper. Every time a tall, white, male passed by, they held up the sheets, clearly comparing the real thing to the print. Which meant they either had his mug shot from the Kennedy incident or an image from a newsreel. He thought briefly about challenging them, but there were too many people about and then there was that exhaustion… As much as he hated admitting it, even to himself, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish what he started.

So, he turned back around and headed towards a metro bus, feigning a casualness he most certainly did not feel.

***

Like the airport, the bus station was guarded, this time by three squad cars and a SWAT van. Erik got off the bus and followed an elderly woman across the street and then hurried past her. One block over and two blocks down, he finally took to the sky, hoping like hell no one was watching.

***

Worried, angry, he managed to fly another twenty minutes before setting down behind a gas station. He pilfered an ancient Pontiac while the owner was inside and sped off. He drove for a few miles and then stopped by a defunct liquor store.

Opening the glove compartment, he silently thanked the car’s owner. Inside was a map, a package of cookies, and a gun. The gun was tempting, but Erik didn’t touch it. He had enough problems as it was. The cookies, however, were a completely different story and he ate them while he reviewed the map, pondering which way to go. He only had a few choices—he needed to get out of the country and given his location, the best route would be north towards Canada. So, Harrisburg and then Allentown or Scranton.

Brushing the crumbs off his fingers, Erik folded the map and tucked it in his jacket. He pulled back onto the road.

***

Though the car wheezed and moaned the entire trip, Erik’s luck held. He arrived at the Scranton terminal just before midnight. He stood outside a long while, examining the entrance. As far as he could see, there was no police presence. Relieved but still on alert, he went inside and asked for a ticket to Syracuse.

***

The trip north was uneventful if a little uncomfortable. The bus was filled with excitable teenagers, who, he gathered, were on their way to a summer camp near Rochester, New York. Erik spent the first hour trying to avoid the gaze of two girls across the aisle. Every time he accidentally glanced their way, they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Fed up, he got his hat out of his suitcase and tugged it down and then crossed his arms over his chest. He pretended sleep until it became a simulacrum of the real thing.

As Erik floated in his not-sleep, still aware of every stop and sharp sound, his thoughts drifted to the Xavier plane with its brandy and chess set and very plush bench seats. It would be nice to be on that plane and not in this claustrophobic and disagreeable bus. After living in the stark, almost one-dimensional cell at the Pentagon for ten years, the plane had been a luxury that had assaulted his senses in the most wonderful of ways.

He smiled softly, remembering, and one thing led to another. He thought about Hank, Mystique and the creature, Logan.

Erik had never come across anyone like Logan in all his travels. Bone that extruded from the body like particularly vicious claws would be a formidable albeit limited weapon. As for Hank, nothing had changed there—doing what he was told, when he was told. And being the keeper of the Xavier flame, of course, for all the good it would do.

He’d been pleased to discover that Mystique was carrying on his legacy; it was what she did best. Her betrayal at the end didn’t bother him. He would have done the same if he’d been in her shoes and he admired her for it.

Of Charles himself, Erik thought nothing at all.

***

1974

 

“Voulez-vous un autre, monsieur?” the waiter murmured, gesturing towards Erik’s coffee.

 _‘No, thank you,’ he_ almost answered in English before remembering. He gave the waiter a smile and said smoothly, “L’addition, s’il vous plaît.”

The waiter bowed. “Bien sur, monsieur.”

Erik watched as the waiter disappeared into the cafe, his smile fading to a frown. He’d been doing that lately, forgetting himself, forgetting where he was and who he was supposed to be. The other day at the grocers when the clerk gave him his change, he almost said, ‘ _Danke.’_

It should horrify him, these lapses, but he couldn’t quite get up the steam for it. He told himself his apathy was similar to a rubber band that had been stretched too tight for too long. When released, the band was lax, unable to achieve its original form. He was like that—flabby and soft though he’d never been fitter. Ten years of eating plain, but decent food and now exercise every day saw to that.

He’d thought that when he rented a flat in the small Canadian city of Longueuil that he’d stay a few weeks, maybe three. Just enough time for his neck to heal, for the heat to die down. But, as the days turned to weeks and then months, he found himself unable to muster the energy to move on. Even when _Le Devoir_ ran another article on the emergence of the astonishing mutants, he only managed a vague interest that never translated to action. It was as if he were half asleep, spending his days as opposed to living them.

There was only one thing that truly woke him from his stupor but that wasn’t a good thing and when it happened, he always turned his mind to other things, other activities.

Still, he was careful. He grew out his hair and beard—as much as he could stand—and cultivated thick glasses. He kept his costume in the false bottom of a new suitcase, spoke only French, and he never, ever used his powers.

“Monsieur Burkhardt?”

In the middle of taking a few coins out of his pocket, Erik turned. Pierre Durand was stepping through the cafe’s front gate, his toy poodle dancing at his feet. “Où allez-vous?”

Erik’s smile was almost genuine. He liked Durand, with his old world manners and kind hazel eyes. Durand reminded him of the cobbler that used to fix his father’s boots back in Dusseldorf. “Ma maison. Je dois travailler.”

Durand raised an eyebrow and glanced at the still-sunny sky. “Vraiment? C’est encore tot.” He tossed his newspaper on the table and sat down.

Erik shrugged, the universal, _‘Yes, it’s a waste of a beautiful evening, but work comes first,’_ and then gathered up his sunglasses, book, and briefcase. “C’est ça.”

Durand nodded mournfully. “La vie d’un professeur.”

“Exactement.”

“A bientot.”

Erik put on his sunglasses and nodded, tipping his non-existent hat. “Oui.”

Durand replied by tipping the brim of his very real hat.

Erik wended his way through the tables so he could leave via the back gate. As he passed the player-less chess set, he scooped up the stack of newspapers lying on the bench. What would Durand say if Erik admitted that the only reason he visited the Café Russe every afternoon was to steal the newspapers that Monsieurs Marchal and Poulin left after their daily game?

Imagining the old man’s confusion, Erik tucked the papers under his arm and pushed the gate open.

He strolled along the river path, enjoying the sun and greeting the few passersby with calm nods and soft smiles. It was a role he’d become accustomed to, that of the benign schoolmaster.

When he got to his one room flat, he dropped the pretense and followed what had become ritual. He got a glass and the bottle of brandy he kept in the cupboard above the sink, then sat down at the table by the window. Frowning in anticipation, he poured the brandy and scrutinized the articles in _Le Figaro_ , _The Daily Telegraph_ and _The New York Times_.

Nothing. Once again, there was no mention of the incident in D.C. or Paris. Ten months out, maybe everyone was moving on.

Erik sighed and sipped his brandy. Scanning whatever newspapers were available had become a daily habit, if only because he had no television. It was, he’d discovered, something he needed to do before he could relax for the evening. It was stupid, really. If the American government had found any clues as to his location, they’d hardly announce it in a newspaper.

Snorting at the thought, he was re-folding the _Times_ when a small article under an ad for Bergdorf’s annual shoe sale caught his eye. He bent over, reading quickly:

_Professor Joins Elite Think Tank_

_Washington_ _(UPI) Professor Charles Xavier of Westchester County has been invited to speak before a committee of international delegates, key figures, and the prestigious Carnegie Endowment for International Peace in New York City. The subject of Professor Xavier’s speech is unknown but one anonymous source says that Xavier is working with the delegates to create an accord between humans and the so-called ‘mutant race.’ Xavier, 37, is the owner and proprietor of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He has PhDs in genetics, biophysics, psychology, and anthropology, and an MD in psychiatry. The private event will be held at the Concord Hotel on April 23._

That was it, a dry recitation of who, what, where. There was no reason why Erik’s heart should be beating so fast, no reason why his palms should suddenly be damp. It was a good thing, this announcement. It meant that Charles’s dreams were coming true. He had his school, his students, and now this ‘accord’ with humans—he too, was moving on.

Erik dropped the paper and picked up his glass. _‘Key figures.’_ What the hell did that mean? Charles’s old associates at the CIA? His new associates at the White House? Probably both because Charles picked up allies and friends like most people picked up a cold. Charles’s form of friendship, Erik had long since discovered, was the gatherer kind, the more the merrier, even if it meant danger. Even if it meant that the beneficiaries of that friendship were all kept at a cheerful and distant arm’s length, each acquiring no more of Charles than Charles was willing to give because if Charles excelled in anything, it was cool control.

Except…

Except, that wasn’t quite right and Erik remembered the plane, remembered ten seconds of unleashed anger as Charles had sprung up from his seat, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, shouting, _‘You abandoned me! You took her away and you abandoned me!’_

Erik had seen Charles angry, even irate, but what he’d experienced that day had been on a whole new level. Rage mixed with bitterness, fury surrounded by grief, it had been a shock. His own response had been somewhat less so.

He could feel it still, his reaction to the strength in Charles’s arms and fists as he’d answered rage with wrath. It had been almost heady, the liberation of the feelings he’d held inside for ten long years. It was still there, apparently, and he narrowed his eyes, realizing his jaw was clenched and the window casements were straining towards him, fighting their mortar enclosures.

Erik took a deep breath and reined in his power, waiting until the episode was over. He took another, this one a sigh as familiar resignation doused his anger in the form of a weary _so what?_

Those ten seconds had revealed more of Charles, of _himself_ , than anything that had come after, but so what? It was over, done. He’d made his play and had been defeated. He needed to follow Charles’s example and move on.

Numbness renewed, Erik threw the newspapers into the bin and got up. Being a provisional history teacher at the local English prep school had its pluses and minuses, the latter being the assessment and grading of endless exams. He could, of course, wait until Sunday but he was suddenly bored and restless and that combination had always proved unpredictable in the past.

So, he retrieved the latest batch of tests from his briefcase and sat down again, this time with a glass of water.

*

_The reason the war started in Germany was because the fighters were German._

That was the answer Louise Chaney had given to his much longer question of: _Explain the three main causes of Germany’s escalation to war. Each answer must be a minimum of one hundred words and you must be prepared to defend your answers._

Because the fighters were German.

Christ.

Erik tossed his pen down and rubbed his eyes. It was almost amusing, Louise’s answer, though he shouldn’t have expected anything different. The girl had made it clear from the outset that she’d rather be out on the green, smoking with her friends and watching boys. Of course, the rest of his students were hardly any better. Were the children of this age really as slow-witted as they seemed or was he just getting old?

Probably the latter and he frowned and then looked at his watch. It was only half past eight. He could return to town and get a drink. Longueuil was fairly dull at night but it was better than tearing his hair out over the stupidity of his students.

Or, he thought, a frisson of excitement building in his chest, he could take the train across the river and see what Montreal had to offer. It had been months since he’d chanced it, a two-hour visit that had brightened his day. Besides, even if there was a risk of exposure, what was life without a little danger?

Excitement still blooming, Erik got up, changed his clothes and was out the door in fifteen minutes.

*

Compared to Paris or Berlin, Montreal was a provincial nobody. Compared to Longueuil it was like life itself and Erik strolled down the Avenue Papineau, happily buffeted by the mob and deafened by the noise.

His fellow passersby were in good spirits. Laughing and shouting their conversations, some walked hand in hand, some with their arms linked. Maybe it was a typical Montreal evening or maybe it was because the next Olympics had been announced and Montreal was the lucky winner.

Erik had scoffed when he’d read the news—if the Olympics allowed truly exceptional competitors, the games would be over in a heartbeat. Although, he mused as he made way for a trio of young men—who was to say that a mutant _hadn’t_ competed in the Olympics? Whatever their sport, whatever their ability, they would have had to suppress their natural superiority but it would have been possible.

He was speculating on what sport would be suitable for a mutant athlete when he entered a disco, picked at random because of its bright neon sign.

If the noise outside was a shock, the din inside was doubly so. Erik’s skin thrummed in time with the heavy beat while dancers clogged the dance floor, the spaces between the tables, and even the entryway. Beams of colored light slashed the dark with streaks of purple, yellow and pink. Up on a stage, dancers of both genders gyrated and spun. After living as a virtual monk for the past ten months and ten years before, the scene was hell and heaven, and he was smiling as he found a place at the long bar.

When the bartender glanced his way. Erik called out, “Bourbon, neat.”

“Wow, you speak English.”

Erik looked over his shoulder. Beside him was a young man in his early twenties. Almost a caricature of a hippie, he had shoulder-length, messy fair hair and a short beard. It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but Erik thought they must be grey. He was good looking, though, with even, almost anonymous features that didn’t hide the fact that his counter-culture clothing was worn by choice, not necessity. If Erik had to guess, he’d say the boy was from the American west coast and born into money.

“I would imagine a lot of people here speak English,” Erik replied, wishing even as he spoke that he’d answered in French. Too late now. “At least enough to get by.”

He started to turn back but the boy nodded eagerly and said, “Yeah. I made the mistake of assuming Montreal would be like Vancouver. I had no problem getting around there.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Erik said dryly. Americans could be such fools, always expecting the rest of the world to be who they were, to do as they did.

The boy shook his head, clearly missing the blatant sarcasm. “Nah, I can’t do that, not yet. I’ve been hitchhiking my way east. I still need to see Nova Scotia.” He grinned again, this time leaning closer to Erik. “But it’s all right. I’ve met a lot of cool people and stayed in a lot of great places. Where are you from?”

Hesitating, Erik started to answer only to be interrupted by the bartender with his drink. He got out his wallet and gave the bartender a fiver, saying, “Keep the change.” When he turned back to his companion, he was suddenly tired of evasions and half-truths. “Originally, I’m from Germany,” he murmured. “And you?”

“California, originally, but I just moved to Portland.”

California. What a surprise. “I’ve never been to Portland,” Erik said, taking a sip of his bourbon. It wasn’t nearly as good as his own but it would do. He leaned against the bar. “Though I’ve been to San Francisco several times.”

The boy nodded and mirrored Erik’s position. “San Fran is cool but it’s getting crowded. I thought I’d see what the great white north had to offer before settling down.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. The boy’s signals were so bright a blind man could see them but maybe he’d been mistaken. “You’re getting married?”

The boy tossed his head back and laughed, showing his white American teeth. He touched Erik’s coat sleeve with his beer bottle. “No, man, I’m not getting hitched. I just graduated and figured I’d see the world before I get too old, you know?”

“Settling down isn’t quite the death sentence you seem to think it. Neither is living past thirty.”

The boy considered that, some of his brightness fading. “Yeah, I get that but I don’t wanna be my old man. He spent his whole life working for a job that killed his soul. That’s not me. I want to do something with my life. I want to help people.”

Erik thought of several answers he could give to that, from, _‘Don’t be such an ungrateful brat’_ to the unexpected, _‘You sound just like Charles.’_ “Helping people is an commendable goal,” he finally said. “What is your name, by the way?”

The man smiled again, his sadness gone. He held out his hand and said, “Mark. My name is Mark.”

Erik almost sighed. If the kid’s name had been ‘Charles,’ it really would have been too much. “Erik,” he said. Mark’s grip was strong and lasted too long.

“Good to meet you, Erik,” Mark said, eventually releasing Erik’s hand. “I was just about to check out the action upstairs.” He jerked his head towards the stairs on the other side of the bar. “I—” Mark hesitated, then gave Erik a quick glance, a metaphorical touch. “They have rooms, if you want to…”

Mark trailed off again and Erik wondered if the boy was hoping for a yes or a no.

He asked himself the same question because he suddenly realized he didn’t know: yes or no, stay or go–

Just then the crowd shifted and parted, and the space about them cleared. The light grew stronger, brighter and he was able to see the color of Mark’s eyes: they were a vivid, striking blue that held just a hint of green.

Erik bared his teeth, hoping Mark would take it for a smile and not a grimace born of a longing so sudden and sharp that it actually hurt. “Of course I want to,” he said. “Lead the way.”

*

There were indeed rooms upstairs, all occupied, so they made do with an alcove in one of the largest. It wasn’t perfect but it hid them from the others. With no word of warning and no foreplay, Erik kissed Mark’s cheek, then turned him to the wall and unfastened what he needed unfastened. He made it quick, using gentleness as a weapon because that was all he had to offer, furiously blocking memories of Mystique and his other lovers. He slipped up at the very end, though. An image, clear and exact, intruded before he could stop it: that sunny day at the mansion, Charles’s face and fractured smile when he’d murmured, _‘It’s a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you.’_

That was all it took, that one remembrance of Charles and his lovely smile, and Erik came hard. He stifled a cry as he fisted Mark’s hair, vision blurring and fading under an explosion of dark light.

When he was done, he pulled out and then yanked his trousers up. He left the room without a word, hoping Mark had the good sense not to follow.

*

Downstairs was the same chaos only this time it angered Erik and he had to keep from pushing the humans aside in his effort to reach the door. When he got outside, he turned towards the train station, not running, but not strolling, either. At a small, open park, he slowed down. There were only a few people about and the solitude drew him across the green until he found a bench. He fell more than sat and then scrubbed his face with his hands. His skin smelled of sweat and some flowery scent that could only be Mark’s cologne. Growling softly under his breath, he rubbed his palms on his trousers, wishing it could wipe away every trace of the last half hour.

He leaned back and sighed.

Well, that was stupid. And pointless. There were so many other ways to find sexual release, some of them back in Longueuil. Several women had made awkward overtures but he’d ignored them, saying he had someone back home. That wouldn’t have prevented a casual relationship, of course. This wasn’t the fifties—a person could have sex without the ties of marriage and fidelity.

The problem was—and he looked up at the hazy stars as if that would make his silent confession anymore palatable—he didn’t want casual, didn’t want local. He wanted a beautiful, pain-in-the ass telepath that had probably forgotten him the moment they’d parted.

_Fuck._

It was funny. He spent the last year assuring himself that Charles meant nothing to him. Whenever he thought of his rescue and the subsequent fallout, he thought of Mystique and Hank and Logan, mentally bypassing Charles as if he simply didn’t exist. But now with the benefit of unscrupulous hindsight, he realized that Charles was the center of a wound that was still too painful to touch. He’d thought he’d been so clever, so smart. Obviously that wasn’t the case if just the memory of Charles’s face and voice could make him come like that.

So, yes, it was funny because Charles had always been the one drawing him in while he’d been the one pushing away. That first night in the mansion, Charles had come to him, using some excuse that Erik now forgot. He’d played dumb, not yet trusting this man who was too friendly, too charming, sure his motives hid a much darker truth. He should have said yes. Yes, and this desire would have been satisfied and not bottled up. Yes and he’d now be free.

To test his theory, he pictured Charles in Mark’s place, head back, eyes closed, long throat exposed. Again, just that and his belly ached and his cock jumped.

What an idiot he’d been.

It wasn’t, however, too late. If he showed up at the mansion with flowers and a bold, _‘I’m sorry?’_ would Charles open the door or slam it shut?

Charles was the great forgiver, the bender and acceptor. He’d still be angry but that door would always be open. Erik knew this. The danger, however, would be approaching Charles on his own turf. It would give him the advantage and leverage. If they were to meet again it would be better to do so on neutral ground. They’d chat, he’d invite Charles to dinner and wait for Charles to calm down, and then…

Mind filled with the irresistible possibilities of, _‘and then,’_ Erik sprang to his feet, planning as he strode down the avenue. He wasn’t going to make any drastic changes. He felt no loyalty to the school or his students, but there was no need to cut and run. He was at the top of the FBI’s most wanted list—it would have to be a quick, discreet trip, maybe a day or two. He’d see Charles and get this obsession under control. Then he’d return to his normal life and self, then he could move on.

He bought his ticket and found a seat. Chin on fist, staring out the window as the train made its way east, he couldn’t stop picturing the meeting, the look on Charles’s face, his reaction and joy.

When the train arrived at Longueuil, Erik was still smiling.

***

The trip to Manhattan wasn’t quite as trouble-free as the trip to Canada had been. There was a tense moment at the Port Authority when he was sure he’d been recognized. The guard stared at him, taking in his boring schoolmaster clothes and hat. Wishing he had Charles’s powers, Erik waited until the guard looked away. He breathed a silent sigh of relief and attached himself to a group of German sightseers, using them for cover. When he made it to the safety of the crowded New York sidewalks, he found a cab and gave directions to the hotel.

***

More of an old mansion than a real hotel, the Concord sat on the corner of a manicured park and was surrounded by trees, bushes, and a tall, wrought iron fence. The conference had already begun—a long line of limousines snaked from the street to the drive where the attendees were disembarking. Dressed in formal suits and fancy dresses, many of them were accompanied by their own security.

Erik had planned on walking right in but the doors were manned by black-clad security guards. And even if that weren’t the case, he wasn’t dressed for the occasion; he’d stick out like a sore thumb.

He glanced around, searching for any safe place to loiter. There was none, not a cafe or bus stop or bench. He could leave and wait out the conference, and then waylay Charles after. But he didn’t know how long the meeting was going to last. Hell, he didn’t even know if it was a one- or two-day event.

He should have called the hotel. He should have come a day early to do surveillance. He should have, at the very least, brought proper clothing.

Frustrated by his lack of forethought, Erik made his way around to the west side. It was as crowded as the front, but with vans and trucks and uniformed staff. The latter were busy porting boxes and crates inside. Spurred on by the makings of an idea, he found a position out of sight and then waited.

It didn’t take long. Within a few minutes, a bored waiter took shelter behind the van nearest the gate and lit up a cigarette. Erik knocked him out with a swift blow to the side of the head and pushed him into the van. Making sure no one was watching, he divested the man of his white shirt and jacket, then tied him up using thin strands of iron from the fence. He closed the van’s doors and then bundled his own clothes up and shoved them under a bush.

There, he thought with a small smile—as easy as if he’d planned it weeks in advance. The only thing now was a little play-acting and he grabbed a flat of champagne flutes and headed for the entrance.

Inside was a receiving area with open doors on either side. Humans were scurrying here and there, some wearing hotel uniforms, some not. With two choices, Erik headed for the door on the right but before he could take two steps, a woman in an elegant black dress stopped him with a sharp, “You there!”

Erik put on his most innocent demeanor. “Yes, ma’am?”

The woman came over and peered into his crate. “Those belong in the ballroom,” she said with a frown. “I told you all that several times.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With her clipboard, she pointed to the door on the left. “Set them up on the table along the back wall, not the one in the front. And don’t break any—we’ve barely enough as it is.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said again, this time bobbing his head in the most supercilious manner he could muster.

The woman ignored him, already marching towards the entrance, no doubt to yell at some other poor slob. Erik hid a snarl and followed a waiter through the door and then down a long, dark service corridor.

***

The ballroom was a behemoth of white painted walls, gold trimmed everything, and an abundance of cut crystal wall sconces and lights. At the far end sat a long dais complete with a podium and chairs. By Erik’s count, there was going to be nine presenters and one hundred and ten guests.

“What are you doing?”

He turned. The woman with the clipboard, Miss Priss, was standing right behind him, glaring.

“Sorry, ma’am. Just lost in thought.”

“I’m not paying you to think,” she answered. “And I won’t be paying you at all if you don’t get back to it.”

She was wearing a pair of steel-rimmed glasses and Erik murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” imagining all the things he could do with that steel.

“Then do it,” she ordered, turning her glare on the men straightening the chairs, hurrying over to them with a loud, “You there! I asked you to adjust the podium, not the chairs!”

Erik shook his head and began placing the flutes just so as he cooled his anger with reminders of why he was here. If he ripped the building’s foundations from its roots, he’d not get the chance to talk to Charles. If he sent the chandelier crashing onto the woman, the din and screams would be satisfying but again, no Charles.

Besides, if he murdered Miss Priss, then Charles’s efforts would be in vain because it would be one more black mark against mutants, maybe the last, unforgiveable one. He couldn’t allow that to happen, not now.

But—he paused, glass in hand—what did that mean, that Charles’s goals were suddenly more important than his own? Charles had no chance of winning this war even though it wasn’t quite a war. It was detente, neatly boxed and gift-wrapped, offered up by Charles himself.

Erik could, of course, call his own acts simple expediency. That bedding Charles required a happy, compliant Charles. He could call it simple logic for the same reason. Neither was exactly right and the realization left him feeling weird, almost anxious as if he’d just walked into a trap but he couldn’t make out its shape or form.

A low hiss pulled him out of his dark thoughts and he glanced over his shoulder. Miss Priss was standing by the door, literally tapping her well-heeled foot as the guests began to trickle into the room. She jerked her chin, nodding towards the space behind Erik. He looked around—in the far corner was a narrow door. Wishing he had the time and inclination to see how far the woman would take it if he didn’t move quick enough, he set the last glass down, then picked up the crate and left the ballroom.

The door led to another corridor, this one short, and narrow. It let out into the foyer but now he was truly caught—the room was filled with guests. They were slowly making their way into the ballroom, chatting and laughing like they were at a party and not at an event that might decide the fate of two races.

Tightening his lips, Erik moodily scanned the crowd. Charles was nowhere in sight. Either he was already in the ballroom or was using another entrance. There was nothing to do but wait, so Erik dropped the crate and then leaned against the doorjamb, casually examining his surroundings.

As lobbies went, it was fairly impressive. Floored with pale pink marble parquet that matched the walls and a double staircase, the foyer was built in the shape of an oval. Supporting pillars capped with gold figurines edged the walls, each roughly eight meters high. He’d seen such grandeur in Vienna and Paris but here in what once was the New World, that same stateliness seemed more than bourgeois, as if the builders were simply trying to ape their superiors.

But who was he to call foul? Unlike Charles who was born to this life, he’d only ever been a visitor, welcomed because no one knew better. Except for Charles, he conceded grudgingly. Charles had never stood on ceremony, never played the lord of the manor. When Charles had said, _‘now it’s ours,’_ he’d meant it with his all heart, the only attached strings being those of expectations that they’d all wanted the same thing—peace and unity.

Peace and unity—two commodities that, in Erik’s experience, were not just polar opposites but diametrically opposed enemies, one always working against the other.

Almost like he and Charles, but he pushed the thought away, not wanting to tread that all-too familiar path.

It seemed forever but it was actually only a few minutes before the lobby was empty of everyone but a man in a suit and a security guard. Breathing a sigh of relief, already pondering his next move, Erik picked up the crate and left his post. So intent on his plans, he didn’t see the group coming towards the wide, double doors on the left until it was almost too late. Using the crate as a shield, he ducked behind a pillar just as the group entered the lobby.

 _‘Finally,’_ he thought, his heart giving a great thump. Finally.

Flanked by Hank, Charles was surrounded by his own coterie. He was dressed for the event, wearing a beautiful gray flannel suit, a pale lavender shirt and a dark grey tie. He hadn’t shaved off his beard nor cut his hair though the latter was slicked back, left to curl on his shoulders. He looked good.

Hank, of course, was in his human guise, also wearing a suit and tie. Right by Charles’s side was the CIA agent, Moira MacTaggert. The rest were strangers, two men and two women. Like the other attendees, they were all smiling as if at party, and when Charles made a gesture and said something, they all laughed

Anger growing, Erik throttled the urge to step from his hiding place. He needed to talk to Charles and that conversation couldn’t happen in front of an audience. He’d have to wait, maybe for a break or intermission—all conferences had those, yes?

At least he knew that Charles was here. That was something.

Resigning himself to patience, he was nonetheless startled when an eighth person joined the group. It took him a moment to recognize the man striding from the ballroom—the last time Erik had seen him, he was flying through the air, claws extended, crucified by rebar.

Like the others, Logan was dressed for the event in a dark suit. His wasn’t beautiful or as well fitted—even at this distance, Erik could see the how the suit strained at the seams. A gorilla would have worn it better, and Erik curled his lip, mocking silently.

Charles, however, didn’t seem to be put off by Logan’s gaucheness. With perfect genteelness, he gestured, introducing Logan to the others and then watched with a smile as Logan shook the human’s hands.

Logan said something, jerking his thumb towards the ballroom. Charles answered and motioned to the humans, another elegant gesture, this of clear dismissal. They nodded and left. MacTaggert reached out and touching Charles’s shoulder as she passed by.

Charles waited until they were out of sight and then spoke again. Whatever he said made Hank and Logan uneasy, the latter shifting from foot to foot. Hank glanced at Logan, said something to Charles, and went on into the ballroom.

Charles prepared to follow, but Logan stopped him, leaning forward to grab the arms of the chair. He spoke, his expression hard. Charles cocked his head and smiled as he replied. Logan scowled clearly unhappy with Charles’s answer.

Then Charles did something surprising: he covered Logan’s hand with his own, spoke again and nodded towards the ballroom. Logan shook his head and straightened up. He commandeered the chair and pushed Charles into the ballroom, bending low again to whisper into his ear.

Like watching an afterimage set by the blinding sun, Erik blinked, studying the space vacated by Charles for an uncounted length of time. What was that? During the events of last year, he’d gotten the impression that Charles and Logan were mere acquaintances and nothing more. On the plane, Charles had kept to himself, only speaking to Erik and occasionally Hank. But now it seemed as if Charles and Logan were intimates. As if they were _more_ than intimates and it just couldn’t be—

A low sound caught Erik’s attention, the rough-burred whine of metal on metal. He looked up. The gold figurines that decorated the nearest columns had slipped free of their mountings. They were inching towards him, dragged along by the enclosed metalwork. It was a grotesque sight, the melting features and softening limbs, the second time he’d made such a mistake. It was also a problem because the guard had glanced up, his mouth open in shock.

Once again using the crate for cover, Erik put on a serene, dumb face and headed towards the rear of the building.

He needed to calm down and regroup. For the next few hours, Charles would be surrounded; there would be no way to approach him any time soon, so, yes, he’d regroup and calm down.

Dumping the crate in the kitchen, Erik was leaving when he spied a familiar object on the counter near the door: Miss Priss’s clipboard. He picked it up and skimmed the sheets, finding a map of the hotel and the itinerary. The conference was a two-day event that adjourned at five, with breaks at noon and three.

Erik took the map and tossed the clipboard in the garbage bin with a mean, satisfied smile. He’d retrieve his clothes, get something to eat, and then find a bench and wait.

***

As impromptu strategies went, it wasn’t too shabby. He changed into his clothes with no one the wiser and when he got to the street, he asked a passerby about a market. Take-out Chinese achieved, he returned to the park and wandered along the paths until he found a bench in the shade with a decent view of the back of the hotel.

He ate, not really tasting the food, his focus bent on his surroundings. The park was like any other—a large grassy area that was encircled by trees and gardens and navigated by meandering, gravel-covered paths. It was pretty though dull.

There were only a few people about. An old man sat on a bench near a small fountain and a nanny with her two charges played under a tree. At one point, the man gave Erik a sidelong glance but made no move to come over.

At three, the nanny gathered her children and headed towards the far side of the park. The man got up a few minutes later but went in a different direction. That left Erik on his own, something he generally preferred it. Only, not today. It felt odd, sitting there by himself and he realized that he was on a slow simmer, still angry about Logan and whatever he was to Charles, still annoyed that Charles was undertaking such a pointless exercise. Mutants and humans would never get along and that was that.

At four, Erik rose and took a turn along the paths, winding up back where he’d started only a handful of minutes later.

He picked up the map.

On the back was the list of guests in order of surname and country. A number was next to each name, the figures ranging from two to four hundred. Those had to be room numbers, which would mean Charles was staying in 104, no doubt a concession to the chair.

Erik glanced at the hotel and then back down at the map. Charles’s room had to be the furthest to the left. Like the other rooms on the first floor, the windows were covered by iron grillwork. If worse came to worse, he’d wait until Charles went to bed and then break in via the window.

It made him grin, the idea of battering down at least a portion of the hotel, his humor dying when he pictured Charles lying in bed, sound asleep like the proverbial sleeping beauty. What would happen if Erik tiptoed to the bed? Would Charles wake before he managed a kiss and if so, would he need to start slow and gentle or would he be able to skip to the main event? The idea made the space between his shoulder blades itch, so no, no rushing, no forcing. After all, he’d spent years waiting without ever really admitting that he was waiting. If all they got were a few hours, he was going to make those hours count as he should have before.

One thing leading to another, he became lost in thought as memory after memory tumbled forth: Charles sitting next to him in that ugly red rental car that overheated every time they got on the freeway. Charles speaking of his hopes for the future, Charles laughing at a stupid joke that Erik had made as they’d filled up the car at a service station.

Lost to the past and that old Charles, Erik also lost track of time. When he looked up next, he was surprised to see that the sun was almost down and the guests were strolling up the street in a ragged parade. Except for one lone figure, a man in wheelchair who had just entered the park.

Heart in his throat, Erik leaned forward and watched as Charles took the path that paralleled the street and then led to a more secluded section of the park. He waited until Charles was some distance away, then stood up and followed.

Years ago, when he’d spent time tracking down Shaw and other war criminals, he’d learned how seductive the hunt was, the planning, the stalking. It was like that now, following Charles through the half-light, controlling his footfalls and breath, making sure his quarry heard nothing.

Charles gave no sign that he knew he was being followed but he had to know, yes? Unless something had gone wrong and his powers had waned again or simply left him, this time for good.

Dread replaced desire and Erik walked faster until he was practically running. Rounding a group of tall bushes, he found himself in a small grove; in the center was another fountain, this one dry and crumbling. He slid to a stop because next to the fountain was Charles.

Neither said anything for a moment and then Charles nodded. “Erik.”

So, no joy or happiness, only a blank, calm expression giving nothing away. “Charles.”

“This is a surprise.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“How have you been?”

“Well,” Erik answered, his smile fading. There was some subtle wrongness here, some off-key note he couldn’t quite parse. Back in the hotel, Charles had seemed the same but even in the fading light, Erik could see that Charles’s eyes were shadowed and drawn as if he hadn’t been sleeping. “And you?”

Instead of replying directly, Charles tightened his lips and then burst out, saying harshly, “What are you _thinking_ , coming here today? The guards almost caught you. I had to distract them. Twice.”

“So you knew I was there.”

It was a statement not a question but Charles answered anyway, “Of course I knew. I knew the minute you got off the bus.”

“Good,” Erik said. “I was worried you’d lost your powers.”

“I have not. They’re stronger than ever.”

He came closer. Charles was wearing cologne, subtle and heady and as Erik took a seat on the edge of the fountain, he also took care not to sit too close. As much as he wanted to touch Charles’s hand, now wasn’t the time for seduction. At least, not the overt kind. “Good,” he repeated, this time more softly.

“What are you doing here, Erik?”

“I saw the notice in the paper and thought I’d visit.” They were eye to eye. If he wanted, he could lean forward and kiss Charles’s unhappy mouth.

“A visit?”

“Well,” he temporized, smiling a little. “Are you…?” Gesturing towards his own head, he wriggled his fingers.

For some reason that made Charles even angrier and his voice was thin when he said, “Of course not. I told you, I’m—”

“Never getting in my head again, yes,” Erik interrupted smoothly, his own slumbering temper stirring. “Considering what happened at the White House, I assumed that stricture was no longer in place.”

“Considering what happened at the White House, of course it is.”

He tipped his head, thinking about that. “I see.”

“Erik—”

“It’s just a visit, Charles. I wanted to see you.”

“And that’s it? No subterfuge? No hidden agenda?”

“Charles—”

“Because the last time we met,” Charles interrupted, bending forward, every word exact, precise, “you tried to kill the president and a dozen other men.”

“The last time we met, I was out of options.”

Charles sat back and slowly shook his head. “You can’t possibly imagine that I would be satisfied with that. You know me better, just as I know you.”

Erik gripped the cement lip of the fountain, saying silkily, “Then what did I want? Since you know me so well?”

“It’s never about need or necessity with you. You wanted to make them pay for your imprisonment. You wanted to make them pay for Cuba.” Charles glanced away, a brief flicker and then back again. “You wanted to make them pay for Germany, even though they had nothing to do with any of that.”

It was an odd contrast, the beautiful night and the equally beautiful man in front of him, both juxtaposed against the heavy blackness that was filling his chest. “And if I did?”

Charles sighed. “Erik—”

“No, Charles,” he said. “Tell me why I shouldn’t be angry? Tell me why I wasn’t justified.”

“Justification and the right to act have very little to do with each other.”

“So says the man who can make anyone do anything and sometimes does.”

“Erik—”

“I thought we were in agreement. You let me go, yes? If you truly thought I was such a mons—”

“Erik!”

Charles’s voice rang through the night and Erik swallowed the outrage that clogged his throat. This wasn’t what he’d planned. What was it about Charles that got to him every time?

Charles rubbed his eyes and then said again, this time in a whisper, “Erik?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He frowned and cocked his head. The words made no sense. “What can’t you do anymore?”

Charles gestured. “This. Us. I’m so tired of fighting.” He looked straight at Erik, his gaze strained but resolute. “You have to be, too.”

Erik couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Charles tipped his head. “How can that surprise you? Surely you didn’t expect me to welcome you with open arms?”

A cricket began to chirp, a slow trill that mirrored the thick beat of Erik’s heart.

Charles leaned forward again and added gently, “I appreciate that you put yourself in danger to come see me but to what point? If this is all we are, if all we have in common anymore is our confused antipathy, then perhaps it’s best if we keep clear of one another. Forever.”

Erik’s throat and mouth were dry and he had to swallow before saying, “You can’t mean that.”

“I can and I do.”

“So all your talk is just that—talk?”

“Apparently so.”

“And these mutant rights you’re so bent on establishing—am I to have no say in those?”

Charles smiled, a crooked half smile that ended at his lips. “Did you want any?”

 _Yes,_ Erik wanted to say, at a loss to think anything but that this wasn’t what he’d expected, that it was too fast, too final. It was as if he’d been walking on a smooth path and all of a sudden the path was gone and he was falling and falling… “No,” he said evenly, fighting for every ounce of composure and nonchalance. “I suppose I didn’t.”

“Then, there’s no more to be said, is there?” Charles sat back and gestured to the hotel. “I’ll keep you safe until you get to the train or bus station. After that, you’re on your own.”

He stood up, feeling his knees creak as if he were an old man. “Is this about Logan?”

Charles frowned, then squinted up at him. “Logan? What has he to do with anything?”

“I saw you two in the hotel. Are you fucking him?” Any expression of softness slipped from Charles’s expression, leaving behind a calm, clear-eyed facade. It was as if a Charles mask was staring up and Erik had to keep from stepping back.

“No,” Charles said with no inflection at all. “I am not sleeping with Logan.”

Erik pressed his lips together, stilling the apology. Charles wouldn’t accept it and he wasn’t sure he’d really mean it. He needed to be gone, away from Charles and his blue-eyed stare that saw too much and gave nothing in return. He nodded once, then turned on his heel. He’d only gone a few steps when Charles called out.

“Erik?”

Hope, tiny but there, lightened his heart. He’d been right after all and, eagerly, he turned back around. “Yes?”

“You didn’t ask after those people.”

He frowned. “What people?”

“The young family crushed by the stadium. The police officers that were hit by falling concrete. The guards at the Pentagon when you stole Shaw’s helmet.”

“What about them?”

“The family, of course, is dead. The officers lived, though it was touch and go for a while.” Charles came closer. “As for the guards, Sergeant Lynch and Sergeant Garcia survived. Lynch had a concussion but after a few weeks he was able to return to work. He has dizzy spells, however, and is unable to operate a firearm. He was transferred to the janitorial staff so he won’t lose his pension. Sergeant Garcia is on permanent disability as his injuries were more severe. He also had a concussion and had two operations to reduce the bleeding in his brain. Neither was a rousing success. He’s still in a care facility near D.C. because his wife is afraid of him. He has mood swings.”

Erik blinked, then asked slowly, already knowing the answer, “And the third?”

“I suppose some would consider Lieutenant Johnson the luckiest of the three. He died a few hours after you attacked him. I imagine when you left, you walked right by his dying body.”

He could say that Charles wasn’t innocent, that the initial rescue at the Pentagon had probably resulted in collateral damage of the same sort. He could say the humans had taken the first shot by stealing items that didn’t belong to them, then added insult to injury by displaying them as if they were intellectual curiosities. He could say all those things but Charles was watching him with a look he couldn’t identify and if Charles was done with all this pain and anger, then he was, too.

He left so fast his boot heels slipped on the gravel, striding back along the path, almost running in his need to get away. It would take an hour to make it to the station and another seven to get home. He’d pack his things and then find some way to get to South America. He’d set up shop in Argentina or Chile. There was Nazi’s thriving in those countries, Nazi’s who thought they were safe from retribution. It had been pointless trying to build a life in Canada. He should have realized that long before now.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in the station that Erik allowed himself to think on what just happened. The waiting, Miss Priss, Logan, Charles…

Ever the lecturer and moral superior, was Charles. If blame was to be passed around, Charles should take a share. After all, it had been he that had chosen to part ways because he’d made it impossible to stay. He expected too much, no matter what one said to the contrary. If Charles could just understand that not everyone felt the need to _fix_ things, not everyone was willing to just—

With an indrawn breath, Erik’s internal monologue stumbled to a halt because he’d finally identified that look on Charles’s face. It hadn’t been anger or sadness or even hate—it was pure, unadorned pity.

Charles actually felt sorry for him, as if he were mentally defective or damaged beyond repair.

“Damn you, Charles,” he muttered under his breath, startling the woman sitting nearby. He shrugged and turned away, forcing away all thoughts of Charles because there was nothing else he could do.

*

By the time Erik got back to his flat, his anger and resignation had reached equal levels of intensity.

It was a new experience for him, wanting to act but unable to take it as far as anger demanded. Like one of those cartoons, he had a devil on his shoulder, saying, _‘Go ahead. It’s what he deserves,’_ and he pictured it, traveling to Westchester to stand in the middle of that pristine lawn and laying waste to Charles’s refuge, pulling it apart brick by brick. It would be so satisfying, so sweet. And, he admitted with a silent sigh, it would solve nothing because it wasn’t Charles’s fault to begin with.

He went to the window seat and dropped down, sitting with his legs bent, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Inertia.

He could stand anything but inertia. It had been like this after D.C., this aching need to gather new followers countered by an equally urgent need to hide and lick his wounds. With his mug shot featured for weeks in every American newspaper and more than a few international, the choice had been easy. He’d forged a new name and eventually, a new life.

_‘You didn’t ask after those people.’_

What did Charles _expect_ from him? Not only had he been on the run, he’d made his case clear from the very beginning—he felt no concern for those less than him. Darwin had shown that some species were better than others through the process of evolution. It was a simple fact of nature.

Erik rubbed his jaw, thinking on that, only coming to the conclusion that he really was too tired for any of this. He went to bed soon after and fell into sleep as if falling into a deep, deep well.

*

He dreamed that night, a confusing mélange of images that marched in and out of recognition. Charles was in there somewhere, a walking phantom that kept turning away every time Erik reached out.

He woke up at dawn, cursed his uninspired subconscious, and then got up to make breakfast.

*

After three nights spent tossing and turning and four days of haphazard teaching where he thought of nothing but Charles, Erik decided enough was enough. South America would set the stage of his next evolution, after all. There he’d find peace in renewed purpose and destruction.

Fixed on his purpose, he asked for a meeting with the headmaster and announced that a family emergency had forced his early resignation. The headmaster didn’t argue or look put out; apparently his assessment of Erik’s teaching abilities was on par with Erik’s assessment of the school. Erik left the building for the last time, happy to be done with the whole experiment.

He went home and packed the things that meant something to him, leaving behind those that didn’t. It didn’t amount to much and with his single suitcase in hand and his hat on his head, he settled his account with his landlady.

He arrived at the train station and marched up to the window, almost shocked when he asked quietly, “The quickest route to the District of Columbia in the United States, please.”

*

In Maryland, Erik did the usual—he obtained funds by divesting a distracted bank guard of a satchel of cash and then scouted out a bolthole in case he needed it. Next, he purchased food and new clothing, also in case he needed them. Finally, he went to a used automobile lot and bought a sedan that had seen better days but was serviceable.

Locating Sergeant Kenneth Garcia was a matter of visiting a public library and asking for the newspaper archives. There were more than a handful of articles about the incident at the White House and he soon had the address of the Silver Springs Convalescent Center.

The facility had no security but that didn’t mean that entering the building wasn’t without risk—everyone Erik passed was enlisted in some form of the American military. If any of them had a decent memory, if Garcia wasn’t quite as off in the brain department as Charles had implied, he’d be in trouble. Luckily, no one looked twice at him and when he got to the nurse’s desk, he had a clever story and a hell of a lot of charm at the ready.

His insouciance and confidence lasted until he was standing outside Garcia’s room. What he was about to do was beyond stupid. If it weren’t that Charles most likely knew what he was up to, he would just turn around and leave. But that slight, infinitesimal chance that Charles knew and was waiting for him to fail, forced Erik’s hand, almost literally—he grasped the door handle and pushed.

The curtained bed was empty. Relieved, Erik started to step back when he spied a slipper and then a pajama-clad leg. There was an occupant—he was sitting in a wheelchair by the window with a book in his lap. He wasn’t reading—he was staring out the window vacantly. He also didn’t look ill—other than the thin red scar visible through his close-clipped hair, he seemed as healthy as anyone.

Erik hesitated, unsure if he wanted Garcia to notice him or not. Finally, just as he was about to beat a hasty retreat, Garcia looked around. His gaze met Erik’s with no spark of recognition and, try as Erik might, he didn’t recognize Garcia either. If they met on the street, he would pass by, never guessing that the man had been at the Pentagon that night.

“Hello?” Garcia said.

“I’m sorry,” Erik replied, pointing to the door. “I have the wrong room.” Garcia was maybe thirty-five or forty and had a broad, dark face and calm brown eyes.

“That’s okay; it happens.” Garcia turned the wheelchair to face Erik.

So, no disfiguring scars on the back of Garcia’s head—the surgeons had saved all their work for the front. A scar, thick and puckered, ran from the top of Garcia’s skull to his temple.

“I know,” Garcia said with a rueful grin. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

Erik made himself shrug, reminding himself that he’d seen worse before. He’d _done_ worse before. “I don’t know. It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah?” Garcia wheeled a bit closer. “Tell that to my friends.”

He shrugged again, this time giving Garcia an understanding smile. “I’ve seen a lot of that kind of thing.”

“Where?”

He’d forgotten his accent again and with a mental, _‘screw it,’_ he answered, “In Europe. Germany.”

“You fight for our side or theirs?”

Thirty years beyond the fact and it was still _‘ours and theirs,’_ but he couldn’t blame Garcia—he’d probably ask the same thing. “How old do you think I am?”

Garcia smiled again and this time, it reached his eyes. “Sorry. I’m not too swift these days.”

“No wonder,” Erik said dryly. Though the window was open, the room was too close—he needed to get out. “I better be going. My friend will wonder where I am.”

“Sure,” Garcia said with a nod. “If you need help navigating this maze, get Nurse Reynolds to help you out.”

“Is she pretty?”

Garcia grinned. “You better believe it.”

“Then I’ll make sure I get lost.”

Garcia reached up, offering his hand. “It was nice talking to you.”

Feeling as if the ground had turned to deep sand, Erik crossed the short distance and shook Garcia’s hand.

“If you can’t find your friend, come on back,” Garcia said, “I don’t get a lot of company.”

He forced a smile. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“Good.”

He backed out of the room before he could say anything stupid like, _‘I have no friend,’_ or, _‘I’m so sorry.’_

Erik returned to the nurse’s station and instead of continuing on through the double doors, he stopped and looked around. There was a different nurse at the desk, busy studying a chart. “Excuse me?”

The nurse glanced around and then smiled. “You’re Kenny’s friend. How was he?”

“As I told the other nurse, he’s a friend of a friend so you’d know better than I.” He hesitated, then asked because he couldn’t _not,_ “I take it he doesn’t have many visitors?”

The nurse shook her head. “He had a few friends but they stopped coming after a few months. His wife is filing for divorce.” She shrugged, and gave him a sad smile. “It happens.”

“Can nothing more be done for him?”

She raised her eyebrow. “He’s in the best hands.”

He touched the countertop. “I didn’t mean that.” He glanced around. “This place is so quiet.” And sterile and cold and lonely. “Wouldn’t he benefit from being outdoors?”

“We’re never quite sure when he’s going to fall so he needs to stay inside. He had two episodes where he almost hit his head.”

Erik nodded and then nodded again. “I see. Thank you for your time.”

“Of course. Tell your friend to visit when he can—that would do Kenny more good than anything else.”

He smiled and escaped, making sure to not rush.

There was nothing to be done. Garcia, as the nurse had said, was in the best hands. Yes, it was unfortunate that he was lonely and stuck in that place that smelled of bleach and illness, but it was his own fault—if he hadn’t been working for the Pentagon, he wouldn’t have been injured.

Erik told himself that and more all the way to the car. When he got slid into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition. And then he pounded the steering wheel with his fist and snarled, “God _damnit!”_

Damn Garcia and his problems. Damn the Pentagon, damn the military but most of all, damn Charles Francis Xavier.

*

In a thoroughly bad mood, Erik decided to take break for lunch though it wasn’t yet eleven. He stopped at a Howard Johnson’s near the highway and chose a booth nearest the door. When the waitress came by with a carafe, he asked for a tuna sandwich, coffee and a newspaper.

He got all three within minutes, which was a good thing in regards to the coffee and newspaper, but not so much with the sandwich. The bread was stale and the ratio of mayonnaise to tuna was unfortunate. Still, he ate it while he caught up on the news, long used to the precept that food might be hard to come by so one ate when one could. Pickiness was for the wealthy and the powerful.

Per usual, the newspaper was full of bank robberies, murders and conflict. Nixon was about to be impeached, the police had raided a Symbionese Liberation Front headquarters and inflation was on the rise. Dublin was reeling from the latest IRA bombing and Muhammad Ali had agreed to fight George Foreman in what was supposedly the fight of the century. There was no news of the mutant conference but he hadn’t really expected it.

Finished with the paper and most of the sandwich, Erik leaned back and stared out the window. He should have just killed the president when he had the chance. It would have saved the taxpayers the expense of the trial and incarceration. Charles wouldn’t agree, of course, and he imagined the conversation. _‘It would have been better if I had killed Nixon,’_ he’d say. Charles would respond by tilting his head and giving Erik the look that simultaneously made him want to punch him and kiss him. Then, Charles would say something like, _‘And what would that accomplish in the long run, my friend?’_

“Will that be all, hon?”

Erik looked up. The waitress had returned with the coffee and the bill. Behind her, two police officers were just sitting down at the counter. “No, thank you,” he said, firmly keeping panic at bay as he took out his wallet. “Will ten cover it?”

“Do you want the change?”

He smiled. “You keep it.”

She smiled and took the ten dollars. “Thanks, sweetie. Come back, okay?”

He rose, using her body as a shield. “Next time I’m in town, I’ll be sure of it.”

“In the meantime, you get some sleep before you hit the road—you look like you could use it.”

Giving her a distracted smile, Erik headed for the doors, very glad he was still wearing his hat and that he’d parked in the side lot and not the front.

***

His non-plan had been to visit Garcia, Lynch, and Johnson, and then leave the country. He had it all mapped out, literally. A red-lined route marking highways and streets, going south, then east and finally south again ending at the Otis Park Cemetery. But when he got on the highway, he ignored the signs that directed him to I-495 and kept going north on 29.

Like a compass needle that had been struggling against true north, he set out for Westchester County, feeling the burn of chagrin and a wash of stinging sweet relief.

*

All told, Erik had spent less than two months at the mansion. He had never driven much during his time there, which meant he shouldn’t be familiar with the landscape and the road. And yet, when he turned onto Graymalkin Lane, he felt as if he were coming home. It was spring and the big oaks that lined the road were just starting to leaf out. Nearby ran the stream, though he remembered it being much wider and faster.

At the big iron and marble gate with the big X in the middle, he pulled to a stop and examined the brass plaque: _Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters_. That was new.

He waved his hand and opened the gate, driving through slowly.

If he remembered correctly, the house was about a kilometer down in the crook of a forked road. If he went right, he’d end up in what Charles called ‘the backyard.’ If he went left, he’d find himself at the rarely-used front door. Not wishing an audience in case Charles was still angry, he went left, stopping a few meters from the circle drive.

He turned off the engine, slid out of the car and went to stand by a stone post.

The landscape had changed. The space in front of the house had been cleared of tress and decorated with low gardens and statuary. The house, though, looked much the same—a huge mid-century monstrosity covered in ivy. When he’d first seen it, he’d thought it the archetype of American vulgarity. Now, his reaction was much different and he smiled, anticipation and anxiety tightening his belly.

A noise, soft and rhythmic caught his attention; he turned around.

A child was coming along the road, pushing a red bicycle that had a flat tire. She paused by his car and then looked him up and down. “Who are you?” she asked, her high voice filled with indignation.

Erik took off his hat, feeling a spark of reluctant humor. She was about nine or ten, wearing Capri pants and a striped t-shirt that was too big for her. Of Chinese or Japanese descent, she had shining black hair that was restrained by a blue headband. “My name is Erik,” he said.

“Why are you here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve come for a visit.”

“You can’t stay here,” the girl stated boldly, adding, “You’re too old.”

Startled, he could only smile and open his mouth to say that he was long past his student days when someone called out, “Suzy!”

Erik looked around again to find another girl peddling towards them. She had long, dark red hair and striking blue eyes.

“That was rude, Suzy” the newcomer said, stopping a few feet away. “Besides, it’s not true and you know it. The professor says anyone can be a student.” She turned to Erik and with sudden formality, leaned over and held out her hand. “I’m Jean,” she said. “Jean Grey.”

Erik shook Jean’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She was older than Suzy by a handful of years, but seemed twice that by her bearing and demeanor. _‘An old soul,’_ he remembered his grandmother once saying of a neighbor’s baby. He’d once thought Charles had an old soul, what with his stodgy clothes and formal ways. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that it hadn’t been the manners or clothing—it was something deep in Charles, some intrinsic ‘Charles-ness’ that made him so different from everyone else. “You’re a student?”

Jean nodded and got off her bicycle. “If you want to talk to the professor, he’s on the terrace teaching a class. I can take you.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” He wanted to ask what her power was but refrained—there was something in her gaze as if she was preparing for that very question, a kind of flinch before flinching. “I’ve been here before, but that was a long time ago.”

They began walking around the house to the back; little Suzy followed.

“Were you a student of the professor’s?” Jean asked.

“No, just a friend.”

“Because you look familiar,” she said. “He has pictures of his family in his room.”

“I doubt I’m in any of those.”

Jean shrugged. “You’re not, but I think I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“I can’t imagine where.”

“Maybe it was—” With a gasp, Jean stopped talking and walking. She turned her blue eyes up at him, her mouth open in shock, her face pale with fear.

Erik reached out, but Jean jumped back and let go of the bicycle.

“Suzanne,” she cried out, “get behind me!”

Clearly confused, Suzy dropped her bike and ran to obey.

“Wait—” Erik tried, but it was no use. Jean had recognized him and was retreating, pushing Suzy along. Near the corner of the building, she turned and grabbed Suzy’s hand and took off.

Damn it, Erik thought with a heavy sigh. Lifting the bikes with a twitch of his fingers, he followed. Not surprisingly, when he rounded the corner of the building he found confusion and alarm.

Charles was on the terrace surrounded by terrified, crying children of various ages. To the left, Hank was running from the house; to the right, Logan was tearing up the stone steps in great leaps. Hank was already blue and Logan’s claws were extended. The air about Erik crackled with energy; he couldn’t tell if it was coming from a single child or was the combination of all the children’s power.

Feeling as if he were walking through an invisible electrical storm, he set the bikes down near the cement balustrade and then raised his hands in surrender. What a ridiculous situation.

Logan saw him just at that moment and with a roar, changed direction and came at him.

“Logan!” Charles shouted and then again, _“Logan!”_ adding a sharp, reverberating mental, _‘Stop!’_

The mental command reached everyone and they all winced and pressed their hands against their temples, even Erik.

With a growl, Logan skidded to a stop and stood there, panting and glaring. “You,” he growled.

“You,” Erik repeated with an equal level of accusation and antipathy.

Logan snarled and Erik smirked. The humming pressure in his head was abating. He straightened up and calmly walked around Logan. He was preparing his speech when he saw the expression on Charles’s face. His smirk faded.

With a glare, Charles picked up a very young boy who was crying. The boy had light blond hair and gave off an odd dark glow, as if he was emitting a reverse kind of sunlight. Charles embraced the boy, murmuring something too soft for Erik to hear and then turned and looked up again. “Erik,” he said through clenched teeth.

Any trace of humor well and truly gone, Erik could only answer, “Charles.”

“You should have called.”

“Would you have answered?” The children were still huddled around Charles. Their ages ranged from about nine to fifteen or sixteen. Jean was standing behind Charles, still clutching Suzy’s hand only now she was frowning. Hank and Logan had come around to stand on either side of Charles. They were both wearing twin expressions of anger and suspicion. “I’m sorry,” Erik said, speaking mostly to Jean. “I didn’t mean to cause any alarm.”

Charles glanced around at his students, his tight expression easing. “Come now,” he called out, a reassuring smile replacing his glare. “You’re in no danger.” He looked down at the boy in his arms. “Come, Jordan, it’s all right. He’ll not harm you.”

Almost everyone calmed down at that. Hank lost his blue tinge and the children’s cries muted to sniffles. Only Jean and Logan retained their vigilance.

“All better?” Charles asked Jordan very gently. Silently, Jordan nodded and wiped his eyes—the darkness that had surrounded him was gone. “Good.” Charles looked over his shoulder. “Douglas? Will you take him, please?”

A boy about thirteen or fourteen, gangly and tall with dark skin came forward. He picked Jordan up and settled him on his hip. Charles smiled and then wheeled in a circle, inspecting his students. “I think we’re done for the day.” The children’s faces lightened, even brightened. “You did well and deserve a break. I think there’s some ice cream left in the freezer.” That did it—smiles broke out; even Jean’s glare faded. “Hank?” Charles added, “would you mind lending a hand?”

“Sure thing,” Hank answered, shooting Erik a wary look.

“Logan,” Charles added, “can you help him?”

The look Logan gave Erik wasn’t wary—it was threatening and angry. Erik quashed a sneer, watching with an odd sense of triumph as Logan and Hank gathered the children and escorted them into the mansion.

“Now,” Charles said, turning to Erik, his expression no longer calm and reassuring. “What are you _doing_ here? I thought we were to leave each other alone?”

“That’s what you wanted, not me.”

“Then you might have honored my request.”

He shrugged. He should feel regret or even shame but he didn’t—he only felt relief that Charles hadn’t forced him back to the car. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“We have a telephone.”

“In person, Charles.”

Charles hesitated, his jaw still clenched, and then he nodded shortly. “Fine, but we’ll go inside. There are too many little pitchers about.”

Erik trailed Charles as he turned the chair and headed towards the side doors. “Jean’s a telepath?”

Charles nodded. “A very powerful telepath.”

“What did she tell everyone?”

“That a monster had come to get us all.” Charles glanced up at Erik. “You mustn’t blame her—they all know what happened last year. It’s been impossible keeping it from them.”

He shrugged. What did he care if a bunch of adolescents hated him? He had bigger fish to fry, the biggest of which was rolling beside him, still angry.

When they got to the French doors he paused and waved his hand graciously. “After you.”

Charles’s lips tightened but said nothing until they got to the large study at the end of the hall. He rolled behind the desk, saying, “Jean has a hard time controlling her powers. If she listens in, it’s not her fault.”

A quick image of what Jean might overhear or rather, see, came to mind and Erik extinguished it just as quickly, hoping Charles hadn’t noticed. “Would I know if she’s listening in?”

Charles picked up a stack of papers and set them to the side. “Probably. She might even hurt you. She’s a little clumsy right now.”

Whether intentioned or no, the barrier of the big desk made Erik felt like an underling, waiting for his master’s rebuke. It didn’t help that Charles hadn’t asked him to sit, that he wasn’t really looking at him and seemed more concerned with tidying his desk.

Annoyed despite himself, Erik pulled a chair closer and centered it right in front of the desk. He sat down and crossed his legs. “I’ve survived worse.”

Charles actually snorted and then answered, still not looking up. “I’m sure you have.”

“Charles—”

“I’ve work to do, Erik. Why are you here?”

Said as if Erik was a nuisance to be dealt with and a myriad of accusations and arguments sprang to mind. But then he remembered Charles’s voice, the way he’d rubbed his eyes as he’d whispered, _‘I can’t do this anymore.’_ Any desire to antagonize withered under that memory and he found himself saying out of the complete blue, “I’m here because I need your help.”

*

Of course Charles had objections.

“You can’t just throw money at people and expect all their problems to go away.”

“I know.”

“I’m very happy you took it upon yourself to make this right but Sergeant Garcia has real problems that need real solutions, not this…” Charles made a fluttering gesture with his fingers.

“I get it, Charles.”

“It was bad enough that the fool of a surgeon decided to open him up again. He was told not to do it, but he thought it would be a good lesson for his students. That Garcia came out of the operation worse than before seems to matter not a wit.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do.”

While they’d been arguing, Charles had moved his chair around the desk and Erik had followed. They sat there, he on the sofa, Charles in his chair as the discussion grew heated, as he tried to find a way to calm Charles’s ire. “I didn’t know, Charles,” he insisted, this time gently. “Would another operation help?”

Charles shook his head. “According to every expert I consulted, the damage has been done.”

Neither spoke for a long moment and Erik wondered if Charles was remembering another consultation that had probably ended with a similar diagnosis. Knowing what would happen if he apologized once more, he cleared his throat and said, “Recognizing I’m the guest here, can I get you a drink?”

Charles looked up at him and then nodded slowly. “You know where I keep the liquor. The key is on the top.”

Erik got up and went to the cabinet. He found the key and unlocked the cabinet. Inside were a Cabernet and a half empty bottle of whiskey.” Why the lock?” he asked absently as he poured two drinks.

“Because there are children about and I don’t want them getting into anything they shouldn’t.”

“Oh.” Imagine having to adjust everything in one’s life to suit a child. He could never do that and he grimaced at the notion, smoothing out his expression when he turned and went back to Charles. He sat, this time a little closer than before, and handed Charles the whiskey. He took a sip and sighed—so good.

Charles took the barest of sips. “It’s an interesting idea, though.”

“What is?”

“The money. It will be Sergeant Garcia’s main problem. Who knows how long his insurance will last. And after…?” Charles shook his head and took another sip. “The after is the problem.”

“Well, you didn’t let me finish.”

Charles raised his eyebrow, a glimmer of a smile bending his lips. “By all means,” he said, tipping his glass in Erik’s direction. “Finish.”

He crossed his legs. “It’s not enough, getting him out of that place. I was thinking that some sort of employment would help, something that would occupy his mind while he regains his strength. Nothing is so hazardous to mental well-being as boredom.” He really hoped Charles wasn’t reading his mind because he was making it up as he went along. Though, he _did_ have first-hand experience with the bleakness of boredom—it was deadly, almost debilitating. “It could be anything, as long as he can actually do it.”

Charles tapped his glass with a long forefinger and then said, “And how would he obtain this position?”

“That’s where you come in.”

“I do, do I?” Charles said dryly. “In what way?”

Erik waved his glass, indicating the room, the mansion. “This all has to be supported by something yes?”

“You know I have a sizeable trust fund. I told you that after you moved here.” Charles’s gaze flickered. “I mean, when you stayed here before.”

Erik ignored Charles’s response, keeping his mind free of expectations. “Yes, but that trust fund is invested in businesses, yes? Can’t you use that influence to—”

“Yes,” Charles breathed, his eyes brightening, just a little. “Yes. I have interests in several large companies in both D.C. and New York.” He set the glass down and returned to his desk, then shuffled through the top drawer and pulled out an address book. “Plus, my father had business dealings with many people in Washington. I’m sure one of them can help. Why didn’t _I_ think of that?”

“Because you’ve been busy,” Erik murmured, watching the top of Charles’s head, keeping any trace of affection or fondness from his voice. “Running this school and fighting for mutant rights must take a lot of time and energy.”

“Nevertheless,” Charles muttered, then added in a louder voice, “here we are: James Pryor.”

“Can he help?”

Charles picked up the phone. “I’m about to find out.”

“And what will I do?”

“You’ll rest before you leave.”

 _‘Before you leave.’_ That didn’t sound promising. “I’m not tired.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Erik.” Charles tucked the phone under his chin and closed the address book. He looked up. “Go to a mirror and you’ll see what I mean.”

They exchanged a long glance and then Erik nodded. “Very well.” He didn’t feel tired. He felt a bit odd, but not tired. “Where’s your guest room?”

Charles turned his gaze back to the book. “Your old room is available.” He straightened it. “If you want.”

So, not odd, but edging towards a sense of breathless unreality because there was something there in Charles’s hidden gaze. It was like that heady first time when Erik had realized he could fly by repelling against the Earth’s magnetism. _Yes, I want, Charles. I want so much._ “That will be fine.”

“I’ll have someone wake you when it’s time for dinner. If you’re staying that long.”

“I really hadn’t made any plans.” He made himself smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d let me through the door.”

Charles didn’t smile, didn’t frown. “The sheets might be a bit musty.”

“You know that doesn’t matter to me.”

“Do you need assistance?”

“No. I remember where it is.” Erik rose and then paused, gaze to the floor. “It’s right next to yours.” Heart beating too fast, he left without waiting for an answer, needing to get away before he said or did something stupid.

When he opened the study door, he found himself facing a handful of Charles’s students—they’d been listening in, or trying to. When they saw Erik, they scattered like mice. All except for the older girl, Jean.

She was holding an open notebook. As he nodded hello, she closed it and followed him across the long hall.

“Are you staying?” she said.

Heartbeat back to normal, his face still felt warm—he was probably flushed. “For the moment.”

“Good.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you’d want me gone.”

She frowned. “At first you scared me, but now you don’t.” She gave him a quick sideways glance. “I told the children that, too.”

“Hm.” They’d reached the stairs; he expected her leave him to it, but she went up with him. “What are you studying?”

“It’s a book report on ‘Carrie.’”

“‘Carrie?’” He’d never heard of it. “What’s it about?”

“A girl with powers she can’t control. Everyone is afraid of her.”

They were passing the windows on the landing. By a trick of fading sunlight, her hair gleamed fire but her eyes had darkened, losing most of the blue. “Was it written by a human?”

She thought about that, then said, “I’m not sure. I think so.”

“Then he won’t have an inkling what real powers are.”

She frowned and tipped her head. “I never thought about that way.”

“What’s the author’s name?”

“Stephen King. He writes mostly horror.”

He’d never heard the name before, either, but then, he didn’t like modern fiction, especially horror. “Even if he _is_ a mutant, it still doesn’t matter. We all handle our gifts differently. The important thing is to accept them.”

She smiled for the first time and her entire expression changed. “That’s what the professor says.”

They were at his door. Or rather, his old door. “You should listen to him; he’s a smart man.”

“That’s what Logan says.”

He refrained from commenting on that creature. “If you see the professor,” he said, touching the door handle, “will you tell him I found my room.”

She nodded and then left him to it, still smiling.

Erik tightened his lips and was about to open the door when a thought came to him. He looked around to make sure he was alone, then went to Charles’s rooms. There was no reason, he told himself as he opened the door with a wave of his hand—he just wanted to.

He went in and then stopped astride the threshold, trying to see what he was seeing. Or rather, what he wasn’t seeing.

Like the rest of the mansion, Charles’s sitting room seemed much as it had been. The wood paneling, the heavy furniture—even the lamps on either side of the sofa were the same. Only, there was a not-right feeling about the room and it took Erik a moment to realize what it was: it was too neat. Charles wasn’t neat. He was a bit of a slob and every room he inhabited reflected that—before, there had always been a mess of open books on the desk and papers and pens scattered about. But now the desk was neat and tidy as was the tables and stands.

Feeling the weight of approaching pain, Erik went to the bedroom. So, yes, the same. Neatly made bed, everything in its proper place. He went over and stroked the surface of the nightstand and looked at his fingertips. Dust.

He was an idiot and he should have known. The mansion had a lift, an ancient rickety thing, but it would be difficult, going up and down all day. Much easier to just move to the first floor where the common rooms were and make a new life down there.

Erik left the suite, pulling the door closed with no gentleness as if it were the door’s fault that he was suddenly so very angry. He went to his room and stood before the mirror.

Rage burned his chest, the fruitless, feeble sort because there was nothing he could do to fix this. If he hadn’t been so fucking intent on getting Shaw and making the humans pay, Charles wouldn’t now be—

He took a breath and then another as all the metal in the room creaked and groaned. He’d spent ten years meditating on his actions. He’d been here before, _done_ this before and it had gotten him nowhere. Things were as they were—no surgeon in the world could mend Charles’s spine and that’s all there was to it.

Besides, he conceded with a reluctant grin, Charles had been right—his mirror self looked exhausted and unkempt. No wonder the children had all run from him. If he were faced with _that_ , he’d run, too.

He touched his beard. He needed a bath and a shave but sleep trumped all. He stripped down to his underwear and pulled back the covers. He slid into bed, shivering at the cool sheets. They did indeed smell musty but he didn’t care—the bed was still comfortable and that’s what mattered. He rolled to his side.

As if turning on a switch, any tiredness he’d felt slipped away and a familiar, low-level agitation slipped in. It was dangerous being here. The CIA and the FBI were probably watching the house. He’d left the car parked in an unsecured location. It was likely that no one would disturb it, but his suitcase was in the trunk and in that suitcase was his money and weapons.

He pushed the covers aside and made to get up but even as he did, an invisible hand held him down and a barely audible voice said, _‘It’s all right. I’ll take care of it. Just rest.’_

Smiling, he settled back down and let Charles push him to sleep.

*

Erik woke to the sound of an argument just outside his door. He listened, only hearing the tone and not the words but maybe that was because he was still groggy, mind heavy from a sleep so deep he hadn’t dreamed or woken once. He sat up and ran his hands over his face and hair. He looked around. It was still light so he’d only slept an hour or so. Someone had very thoughtfully brought his suitcase up—it was sitting by the door.

Good, he thought, getting up. He had time to bathe and shave before meeting Charles for dinner.

The shower felt sinful and he stayed in longer than normal, just letting the water slide down his body. Shaving felt equally good, though he just took the time to trim his beard.

He dressed, choosing the clothing he’d purchased the day before. Feeling more himself than he had in a long while, he opened the bedroom door. There was no one in the hall. In fact, there was no one in sight and he went down to the dining room. It, too, was empty and puzzled, he turned to the rear of the mansion. It wasn’t until he got within range of the kitchen that he heard voices.

At the doorway, he paused, his hand on the jamb. Full sunlight was streaming in through the windows and the smell of eggs and bacon was thick. The children were gathered around the big table, eating breakfast. They were all staring at him, as was the man at the stove.

“Summers?” Erik said.

“Erik,” Alex Summers said, putting down the spatula. “Charles said you’d come back.” He went to stand by the table. “I didn’t believe it until I saw it for myself.”

That could only mean one thing and his lip curled. “So, you’re a spy now?” Alex looked about the same though his hair was longer. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that said, _Can You Dig It?_

“So, you killed the president.”

The children all gasped and looked at Alex.

“I did not,” Erik said through gritted teeth.

“Then why were you in jail?”

The children all looked up at Erik.

He hadn’t thought much on it, but now he realized that he’d assumed Charles had passed on the information that his incarceration had been a mistake. Why hadn’t he? “I have no intention of explaining myself to you, Summers. Where’s Charles?” As if they were watching a tennis match, the children once more looked over at Alex.

Alex glared but returned to the stove. “He’s gone to the city.”

Sitting near the end of the table, Suzy mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, “You slept a _really_ long time.”

Erik raised an eyebrow and glanced at the clock on the wall. Eleven, and it had to be the a.m. version, not the p.m. Huh. “I was tired.”

“I mean, a _really_ long time,” Suzy said again, this time to her plate. “Tessa said you were dead.”

An older girl piped up, “I did not! I said I couldn’t hear anything and maybe—”

“You did, too,” Suzy responded, her small face darkening. “You said he killed the prof—”

“Suzanne! Tessa!” came a voice from the door and Erik turned, knowing who would be standing there. Sure enough, it was Jean, wearing a pink robe and fuzzy pink slippers. “What did I say about fibbing?”

Suzy turned her glare on her plate and muttered, “You’re not my mom.”

“Suzanne,” Jean said, this time frowning.

After a moment Suzy said in a sing-song voice, “ _‘If I’m caught lying again, I won’t be able to go to the movie this weekend.’”_

“And?” Jean said, with a quick look at Erik.

Suzy’s expression changed again, this time in disbelief. “That’s not fair!” she shouted. “David lied about the fish in the pond and so did Jordan!”

Jean folded her arms and didn’t say anything. After a moment Suzy burst into tears and then jumped up and ran from the room.

Feeling as if he’d just been through a sudden hailstorm, Erik looked helplessly at Jean and then Alex. What the hell was going on here? How did Charles stand it? Five minutes and he was ready to lift the whole room, kids and all, and send it flying to another state, preferably on the other side of the continent.

Jean cleared her throat and then said, “I’m sorry about that.” She sat down at the table. “Suzy’s been having a hard time. Are you hungry?”

 _‘No,’_ Erik wanted to say, _‘But, I am curious—how is this educating anyone and why are you in charge when you’re barely older than the rest?’_ He kept his mouth shut, reminding himself that this was Charles’s show, not his. “Isn’t a bit late for breakfast?”

Jean flushed. “They had a long night.”

Whatever that meant. “Where exactly in the city is Charles?”

Alex answered, “Some place on Wall Street. He went with Logan.”

Logan, again. No matter what Charles said, there was something between them and the knowledge bit and chewed. “Where’s Hank?”

“Probably in his work room.”

He nodded and turned.

“Do you remember where it is?” Alex said

He didn’t bother answering—of course, he remembered. When they’d first arrived at the mansion, Charles had given Hank the run of the annex built by his stepfather. Unless things had changed drastically, that was still in the north wing.

Things hadn’t changed drastically and he found Hank by the windows, bent over a microscope. “What are you working on?” he called out, not really caring, just wanting to startle.

Hank jumped. “Jesus, Erik—” He clutched his chest. “You scared the life out of me.”

Good. “What is that?” Erik asked, coming closer. “Not another ‘cure,’ I hope.”

Hank pressed his lips together and swiveled back towards his desk. “It’s a sedative for Jean.”

He pressed his lips together. “Why does she need to be knocked out?” When would Hank learn to stop messing about with mutant gifts?

“It’s not to knock her out. It’s to help her sleep.”

Erik went to the desk and leaned against the edge. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s having trouble staying asleep which means she keeps waking up the rest of the school.”

That’s probably what Jean was referring to by, _‘long night.’_ “I’m surprised Charles hasn’t managed to help her.”

Hank frowned, his eyebrows drawing together. “He feels it’s important she learn to control her powers on her own. He only helps her when she really needs it.”

“So you’re experimenting in secret again?”

Hank pushed the stool back and stood up. His cheeks were red. “It’s Jean’s idea. Charles knows; he doesn’t think this is the way to go, but he’s agreed to let her try it if she gets desperate.”

Erik smirked and picked up a pair of tongs. He began to toss them back and forth from hand to hand, the metal never quite touching his skin. “What about my helmet?”

Hank frowned and took a seat again, annoyance in every line of his body. “What about it?”

“Why not use the technology that makes the helmet work? At least until she learns to control her powers.”

“I suppose,” Hank said after a moment. “I could line the walls of her room with it. It has to be something similar to Cerebro, something that would manipulate electrical impulses. It won’t solve the general problem, but maybe it will let her relax” Hank back and forth swiveled on his stool. “Too bad the Pentagon still has the helmet.”

He tossed the tongs on the table. “Don’t expect me to steal it for you.”

Hank gave him a pursed lipped, _‘Don’t be an jerk,’_ and then said, “But that begs the question, who made the helmet in the first place? Was Sebastian Shaw that smart?”

The mention of Shaw’s name made Erik’s stomach lurch as it always did, but he answered with false calm, “No. He generally relied on friends to fulfill his dreams, and his friends at the time were the—”

“Russians,” Hank interrupted with a thoughtful nod. He pushed away from the desk, coming to a stop at another. He got out a notebook began to write. “Charles has more connections than I do, but I can get started on the design. I’ll ask him to make some calls when he gets back.”

“And when will that be?”

“Sometime tomorrow?” Hank said without looking up. “I don’t really know.”

“He should have waited for me.” Inwardly he winced—there was no reason why Charles should have done any such thing and he felt like he’d inadvertently given away something crucial.

“He did,” Hank said. “You slept for almost two days.”

The tongs paused in mid-air as he digested that. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Erik watched Hank for a moment. It was odd, but it was nice being here. Hank might be Charles’s lapdog but he was a good man and had a good heart. Poor sap. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

He set the tongs spinning again. “About this Logan…”

“What about him?”

“It took me a while, but I finally remembered him. He turned Charles and me down when we tried to recruit him all those years ago.” The tongs were spinning now, end over end.

Hank turned around and gave Erik a clear-eyed look. “What aren’t you saying, Erik?”

“Do you trust him? I mean, after all of what happened last year?” It was almost hypnotic, the light flashing off the metal.

“That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“He asked me the same thing about you. Which is weird because you two never met. I mean, not really.”

He couldn’t help a sarcastic, “That _is_ weird.”

“I mean,” Hank said, returning to his notebook, “he doesn’t remember any of that.”

Erik’s surprise was so great that he lost control of the tongs. They went flying diagonally across the long room and bounced off the plaster.

With a muttered, “Damnit,” Hank jumped up and ran to get them.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t remember?” Erik called out.

“These are my best pair,” Hank called back as he examined the tongs.

“Sorry. What do you mean—”

“They cost ninety-five dollars.”

Erik sighed. “McCoy.”

Hank came back and carefully put the tongs in a drawer. “He doesn’t remember. Charles says it’s because it was the future Logan that was using the younger Logan’s body. All he remembers is waking up on a boat with military men standing over him. He would have probably been taken into custody but Raven got to him first.”

“She did?”

Hank sat back down. “She’s a good person, Erik.”

“She’s not a ‘person’ at all,” he muttered. So, Logan had no memory of helping Charles, no memory of any of the things he’d said or done. “I remember the events of last year, and you and Charles remember—does Mystique?”

“Yes. I think so but I’m not sure.”

“Where is she?”

Hank’s expression settled into something like resigned anger. “You’d know better than me.”

“I haven’t seen her since D.C.” When Hank’s glare deepened, Erik held up his hands. “Honestly. I thought she’d be here.”

Hank relaxed a bit and then shook his head. “I haven’t seen her in a while. I think she’s out rescuing mutants.”

“Good.”

Hank’s frown reappeared “What’s any of this to you, anyway? The last time you saw Charles, you tried to kill him.”

“I—” He frowned. “Do you mean in D.C.?”

“Of course I mean D.C. What did you think I meant?”

So Charles hadn’t told Hank about the conversation in New York. Interesting. And confusing. “Why I’m here is none of your business.”

“If you just want to hurt Charles, you can do that just as well somewhere else.”

Hank was almost half Erik’s age and had half his skills. Why then should that comment be so shocking that he had no response? Except for a mild, “The last thing I want to do is hurt him.”

Hank shrugged, swiveled back around and began writing again. “That’s what you say, but you do it all the time. You can’t help it. You’re like a bull in a china shop.”

The words slid in like a cold knife and before Erik knew it, Hank’s precious metal tongs were out of the drawer and flying through the air again, this time to lodge deep in the plaster. Jaw working, ignoring Hank’s angry shout, he left before he did anything he might regret.

**

Not wanting company especially of the young annoying sort, Erik holed up in his room. Bored after only a few hours, he then went for a walk on the grounds. There was no one about, which was just as well, considering he was still furious. He ended up at the open-side, faux Greek pavilion near the river. Inside, he leaned against the cement balustrade to stare out at the beautiful landscape.

His response to Hank’s comment was counterproductive. And stupid. He’d always had the upper hand when it came to Hank but like so many other things, that seemed to have changed. He should have expected it. While he’d practiced peace as the guest of the United States government, Hank had been growing and maturing and, evidently, learning to stand on his own two feet.

Sighing, Erik sat sideways on the wide balustrade and leaned against a white column.

_‘You can’t help it. You’re like a bull in a china shop.’_

Why did that bother him so much?

He’d never minded what others had said about him. In fact, he’d gloried in their fear and condemnation, even when it came from his fellow mutants. Safe in the isolation of disdain, he’d confidently lived his life on that one plane. Even when Charles came along, he’d managed to keep the core of that solitude in tact. And what did Hank know, anyway? Hank’s opinion was just that, an idea based on rumor and supposition because even back then, Hank had kept his distance.

There were only two people whose opinion counted; one, if Erik was being honest and no matter his words of ten years ago or even one, Charles didn’t think he was a—

“Hey, mister! What are you doing?”

He jerked. And then sighed as he glanced towards a trio of big oaks. “My name is ‘Mr. Lehnsherr,’ not ‘mister,’ and that is very irritating.”

Suzy came from behind one of the trees, her hand on the massive trunk. “What’s that mean?”

“It means that you have a bad habit of creeping up on people.”

Suzy frowned. “I wasn’t creeping. I was walking.”

“It looked like creeping to me.” Suzy had changed her clothes and was wearing a yellow dress that was too long for her and runners that had holes in the toes. On her head was a wreath of dandelions—the blossoms were dead and tangled limply in her hair. With the grime on her face and her odd costume, she looked like something from a Dickens novel. “What are you wearing?”

Suzy came into the pavilion and put one foot on the balustrade footing. “I’m a sprite. The professor was reading us a book about them.” She reached up and grabbed the cement top, then hauled herself up, her feet kicking, her voice constricting, “Tessa says they’re not real but I think they are. There.” She turned and scooted until she was resting against the column, mimicking Erik’s pose.

Without thinking, Erik had reached out while she’d climbed up. He made himself sit back and relax. “Don’t fall off.”

She rolled her eyes. “I won’t.”

He glanced down. It wasn’t that high and if she fell, she’d just land on the grass and a few weeds. “What is a sprite?”

Suzy frowned. “A sprite’s a sprite,” she said, waving her hands in the air. “You know, like a fairy or a gnome.”

“I think those are two very different creatures. Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?”

“Of course, I know,” Suzy answered with a huff. And then, on a more unsure note, she added, “Well, I’ve never seen a gnome but I’ve seen the pictures in books.”

“Ah,” he said. Whatever anger he’d been feeling had disappeared under the weight of this inane conversation. “And you’ve seen a fairy?”

Suzy hesitated, then nodded firmly. “I have. I know how to call them, too. If you stand in a circle and say real loud, _‘Fairy come here, fairy come here,’_ they _have_ to come.”

Erik cocked his head. “That sounds made up to me.”

Suzy frowned again only this time she crossed her arms. “It’s not. My mommy says so.”

It couldn’t be a good idea to encourage such fantasies but he heard himself say slowly, “Well, if your mother said it was true, then it is. Mothers don’t lie about such things.”

As if he’d said a magic phrase, Suzy’s distress evaporated. “That’s what I told Tessa. I said my mommy says that fairies are real and so is sprites.”

“Well, you can tell Tessa that I believe you. In fact…” He stood up, not quite believing he was actually going to do this. “Let’s call them together.” He held his hands out, expecting Suzy to hesitate but she practically leapt off the balustrade.

“Like this?” she said, reaching up.

“Hm, mm.” He bent over and grasped her tiny hands very gently. They began chanting together, _‘Fairy come here, fairy come here…’_ as they turned in a circle.

Later on he wondered how long he’d run with the charade but during their third or fourth turn, a flash of movement caught his eye. He looked around and found himself staring right at Charles.

Charles was coming down the path with Logan by his side. Whatever Charles was feeling didn’t show on his face. Logan, however, was smirking as if he’d caught Erik pilfering the silver plate.

Suzy saw them at the same time and she dropped Erik’s hands and ran out of the pavilion. “Professor!”

“I’m right here, Suzanne,” Charles said, giving Erik a lightning quick glance. “You needn’t shout.”

Suzy jumped up and down. “He believes me, he said so!”

Charles took Suzy’s hands. “What does he believe?”

“In fairies. Erik believes they’re real, too. We were calling them.”

Logan snorted, quickly covering his laughter but Charles just smiled and said, “That’s splendid, darling. Maybe you can show me after dinner? You and I need to have a conversation about telling the truth, in any case.”

Suzy’s shoulders fell. “I don’t know if it will work with you. You need to walk.”

Erik stiffened but Charles just smiled again. “I’m sure fairies aren’t so particular.” He let Suzy go and backed up. “Why don’t you hurry up to the house with Logan and get ready for dinner.”

Suzy’s shoulders slumped even more. “I’m not hungry.”

“I realize that, but I want you to try to eat, anyway. But first those hands need to be clean.”

All right,” she grumbled, as if Charles had asked her to wash all the floors in the mansion instead of her hands.

Logan jerked his head towards the house. “C’mon, kid, I’ll race you.”

With a sudden smile and a high yip, Suzy took off, Logan chasing after.

Charles watched them go, then turned the chair around. “Fairies, was it?”

“Don’t start, Charles,” Erik said as they went up the path. “What is her power, anyway?”

“We’re not quite sure,” Charles said thoughtfully. “She seems to have the ability to stop time. Either that or she can bend it. She told me she talks to her mother, present tense. At first I thought it was make-believe but I think she actually sees her mother as she was before her death.”

So all those comments about ‘mommy’ were in reference to a dead woman? He frowned at the ground, refusing to feel sorry for the girl. “What happened to her? The mother, I mean.”

“Emily and David Chan. They were gunned down outside Chinatown in San Francisco, right in front of Suzy.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Charles stopped. “Erik?”

He knew that tone and was getting to know that look. “Yes?”

“Suzanne, like so many of my students, has had an exceedingly difficult childhood.” Charles glanced down and then off to the side. “I don’t want her getting hurt.”

There were so many things he could say to that, so many wonderfully cruel and blistering things, but if Charles was tired of their arguments, then suddenly so was he. He took a moment to compose himself before saying, “I promise, Charles, no hurting.”

Charles nodded once and they started back up the path.

“So,” Erik said, experiencing the gulf of time like never before. He felt the need—for pity’s sake—to make conversation. “What were you doing in New York?”

“Starting a company.”

It was so unexpected that Erik had to laugh. “You were? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of company?”

“Right now I’m not sure but it will have something to do with electronics, possibly mainframe computers.”

“What’s a mainframe computer?”

“I have no idea, but when I told Hank, I thought he was going to pass out.” Charles smiled. “He’s in there now calculating exactly what kind of computers we are going to build, no pun intended. I imagine he won’t emerge for days.”

“Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you start a computer company if you don’t know the first thing about computers?”

“Because they’re the future, according to Hank and because Kenneth Garcia showed an aptitude for advanced mathematics whilst at university.”

“You’re starting a company so you can give him a job?”

“It was your idea.”

“I know, but I thought you’d just…” He waved, indicating nothing, really. “Do you think he’ll accept the position?”

“I hope he won’t say no, but he’ll certainly have that option.”

“Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Is this a good idea?”

Charles stopped his chair and looked up at Erik. “Do you mean, is Kenneth capable of performing complex tasks, and if he can’t, will that failure make his situation worse?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve looked into Kenneth’s mind, Erik. He’s frightened and angry and weak from lack of exercise, but I saw no psychosis or instability. If there’s brain damage, I can’t find it. He’s a smart man. He deserves this chance.”

He thought on that for a moment, then said, “All right. What’s next?”

Charles started the wheelchair again. “It will take months to get everything in place, but Hank is meeting with Kenneth next Thursday. After that, we’ll wait and see.”

“I’m not so good with waiting.”

“I remember.”

Charles’s voice was cool but Erik thought he caught a very small smile. He had to keep from answering with a smile of his own. They were almost to the steps and he slowed his pace, hoping Charles wouldn’t notice. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For last night. Or rather,” he amended with a gesture, “the other day. When I couldn’t sleep.”

Charles didn’t speak for a moment and then he said slowly, “It wasn’t me, Erik. I had no idea you were having trouble sleeping.”

He frowned. “Then who—” He stopped next to a stone pillar and sighed “Jean.”

“I’m sorry. She must have been unable to help herself.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Charles.” Trailing weeds were growing in the cracks where the brick met stone and Erik pulled one free. It was long, colored dusty green with tiny purple flowers along one side. “I was grateful.” And he wasn’t disappointed that it had been Jean and not Charles. He wasn’t.

“Erik?

“Yes?”

“I have something else to tell you. I should have before, but I—”

Whatever Charles was about to say was lost as one of the boys came running out to the terrace, shouting, “Dinner, professor!”

Charles sighed and then called out, “We’ll be there in a moment, David.”

“All right!” the boy shouted and ran back into the house.

Charles sighed again and turned towards the ramp.

“They’re a loud lot, your children,” Erik mused.

“They are that.”

“Don’t you think a little more discipline would be in order? Maybe deportment classes or something like that?”

Charles looked up at Erik, his eyebrow raised. “This from the man who thought all formal education was pointless?”

Erik shrugged and then grinned. “I never said that, exactly.”

Charles gave him another look but only said, “Hmm.”

“A few more manners won’t hurt them. If they’re to become the new mutant-human ambassadors.”

Charles shrugged away the acid in Erik’s tone and answered, “I hope they become more than that. I hope that when they leave here, they’re just happy.”

They were on the ramp now. Suzy was waiting on the terrace, sitting on the base of one the oversized earthenware planters. She looked like a little elf, curled up as she was. “Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Before…” He gestured. “You were going to tell me something.” Suzy saw them. She jumped up and began skipping towards them.

Charles squinted at Suzy and then Erik. “It will keep.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

Suzy was on them now and without any hesitation, she lifted her arms towards Erik. Feeling an unpleasant jolt, he hesitated and then picked her up.

Charles glanced at him, then looked away.

They went into the mansion together, Charles frowning at nothing, and Erik counting the seconds until he could put Suzy down, wishing not for the first time that he knew what Charles was thinking.

*

Dinner was a chaotic affair held in what was once the formal dining room. Charles and Logan sat on either end of the long table with Hank and Erik in the middle on opposite sides. Suzy had tried to sit next to Erik, but Charles had called to her and suggested she sit by him instead. She’d gone, clearly irritated, stomping her little feet.

Surrounded by children, Erik said little to them and they said little to him. He wasn’t sure if they were still afraid of him but it was fine if they were. Charles’s words, the subtle request that he keep clear of them was all well and good, but hardly possible when he was encircled by them.

Afterwards, Charles gathered the children in the front living room to catch up on the schoolwork and the story they were reading. Hank went to his workroom and Logan disappeared, probably to go work on all those muscles. Feeling a bit adrift and more than a little sleepy, Erik settled in one of the smaller studies and watched the television until it was time for bed.

*

He fell asleep easily that night only to dream again of Charles. Unlike that last dream, this was to the point and specific. He woke at the crucial moment, gasping and arching off the bed. He turned on his side and rested there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, trying to catch the remnant dream. It had been something about Charles and the Lincoln Memorial. He grinned softly. He’d been right to come here even though things weren’t settled between them, even though the children were an inconvenient distraction.

Still smiling, he got up, cleaned himself off and went back to bed.

*

In the morning he woke to find a note slipped under the door. It was from Charles, written on thick paper with the Xavier crest at the top. In Charles’s messy hand, it said:

_I’m meeting with a representative from the NSA today. I expect to be gone until early evening but it might be later. Logan and Alex are taking some of the students into town. I think it best if you stay at the house but if you go out, please take care not to be recognized. I believe the interest in you is waning but one can never be too sure._

_C._

He frowned and read it again. The NSA. That couldn’t be good. Unless it involved the accords that Charles was establishing and even then it made Erik’s skin crawl. The thought of Charles pacifying or bending over backwards for another group of power-hungry idiots was maddening not to mention suspicious.

Erik flicked the edge of the note, wondering if he should leave. After only a moment’s consideration, he decided to stay. No matter how difficult things were, Charles would never betray him to the authorities. Besides, there were the children—if Charles was going to sell him out, he’d do so when he was far away from the mansion.

In a sour, reflective mood, he got dressed and went downstairs.

The kitchen was unoccupied; Logan and the kids must have already left for town. Erik made and then ate his breakfast while he read the local newspaper. There wasn’t anything of interest. The paper only gave a passing nod to real news, preferring the goings on of the town. The hardware store was having a sale as was the beauty shop, a cut and curl for nine dollars. There was to be a town meeting to discuss the pending sale of a large parcel of property to a retail conglomerate. The fire department was holding its annual charitable drive to benefit the underprivileged. There was no mention of who the underprivileged were and Erik could only assume it was children. Normal, non-mutant children.

Mood still sour, he washed the dishes and put them in the drainer.

With nothing better to do, he went to Hank’s rooms and found them also empty. It was the same with the subterranean testing grounds and the upstairs observatory. He wandered outside, hands in pockets. Except for the landscapers working on north side retaining wall, the grounds were as empty has they’d been the day before. His mood improving, Erik strolled down to the lake.

It wasn’t until he neared the lake before he spied signs of life—Suzy was sitting crossed-legged on a bench, reading a book. Erik paused; he really didn’t want to engage in a conversation with Suzy no matter how weirdly adorable she was. But just as he was backing away, she looked up. Caught, he sighed and continued on.

“Hello,” Erik said Today, Suzy was wearing normal clothes except one of her striped knee stockings had a long rent in it. “Why are you out here by yourself? Isn’t someone supposed to be watching you?”

Suzy made a face, then said, “I’m not a baby. I’m ten.”

 _‘Yes, ten is practically grown up.’_ “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Hank was here. He had to go back inside.”

“I see.” Erik sat down. “What are you reading?”

Mutely Suzy held the book up.

 _“‘The Ogre Downstairs,’_ ” he murmured. “Are you sure you should be reading that? It sounds scary.”

Suzy straightened up, offended. “It’s not scary. The professor gave it to me. It’s about these kids that live in a house and they have these chemstry sets and they’re magic. It’s not scary.”

Erik nodded, holding back a smile at Suzy’s mispronunciation of ‘chemistry.’ “I’m assuming the chemistry sets are magic and not the children?”

“The kids are just kids. Like me.”

Erik swallowed the words, _‘But you_ are _magic,’_ saying instead, “I take it you weren’t allowed to go to town today?”

Suzy shrugged, her expression clouding over. “I’m supposed to stay here with Hank and learn the value of telling the truth.”

The words were so very Charles that Erik almost choked on a laugh. He reached out. “May I?”

Suzy handed over the book without a word.

According the back cover, the book was appropriate for ages eight to twelve. A receipt was taped to the back; the book had been purchased in New York only the day before. As if he’d been there, he knew that Charles had bought it for Suzy as a way to soften the coming blow. He gave the book back. “Do you think I might like it?”

Suzy thought about it. “I don’t know. It’s for kids and you’re old.”

This time Erik did laugh, a burst of honest humor that felt strange but welcome. “So you’ve said. Maybe you can read it to me. Since I’m so very ancient.”

“Okay,” Suzy said, her face brightening just a little. She opened the book and then paused. “Erik?”

“‘Mr. Lehnsherr,’” he corrected.

“Mr. Lehnsherr,” Suzy repeated. “Alex said—” She paused again only this time she frowned and looked down.

“What is it?”

“Alex said—” She peeped up at him. “Alex said you killed people. Real people, I mean.”

He wasn’t ashamed of his deeds and would gladly answer, _‘Yes, I did,’_ but held his tongue. She was so young and Charles would never forgive him, so he hedged, “I did things that got humans killed.”

“Did you like it?”

The sunny day hadn’t turned cold but he felt as if it had, felt as if a chill wind had run up his spine. “What do you mean?”

Suzy cradled the book to her chest. “It’s not fair. Jordan lied about the pond, too.” Her little face scrunched up as if she were in pain. “It makes me so mad. It wasn’t my fault and sometimes I just want to—” She hunched over, clutching the book harder, her little knuckles turning white. “I want to—”

“Suzy?” Erik reached out but she jerked back, refusing to look at him.

So familiar this pain, and his own throat closed. What he’d taken on, intentional death and destruction, he’d done so open-eyed with only a few regrets. Suzy was far too young for the burden of that kind of hate. He didn’t know what that act of ultimate violence would do to her young mind but he knew it would be bad and permanent, and he reached out again and put a careful hand on her thin shoulder. “Suzy, I understand, but it’s wrong.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

Suzy shook her head, a brief shudder of denial and confusion, and then whispered, “I want my mommy. I want —” She took a quick breath and then another.

“Suzanne.”

She was crying now, her body trembling and shaking, releasing a slight vibration that transferred to the air around them. It built, the pressureless pressure, closing in on Erik’s ears and chest.

“Suzy?” He couldn’t feel his own hands and feet, couldn’t quite make his lungs work. “Suzy,” he repeated, the tremor becoming a quake. She didn’t respond and the pressure got worse. He suddenly wished that Charles were here. Charles would know what to do, what words to say… “It’s all right. Come on now, just relax.”

Bright and sharp, the light all around suddenly bent and fractured, breaking into long thin lines of prismatic colors. Erik tried for his power and felt it stall. It was as if it was being blocked, as if his body was being crushed by the streaks of light. If only he could breathe, then he might be able to think of a way… “It’s all right,” he wheezed. “Come on, just breathe, sweetheart. Just—”

With a soft cry, Suzy responded, gulping air as she collapsed sideways into Erik’s arms.

Light flashed once more and then the world resettled and the air cleared. Gasping for breath, his arms weak, Erik gathered Suzy close. He let her cry for a while, let himself stroke her hair back from her hot face. Finally, after she’d worn herself out, the pressure on his chest eased completely.

He drew a long, long breath. How beautiful was the simple act of breathing? He felt a new and sincere sympathy for asthmatics—to experience that on a daily basis must be so terrifying. “That’s better,” he murmured. “That’s my girl.” Strength returning, he straightened up. “That’s it.” Suzy didn’t answer but rested against him as if exhausted. He held her tighter. “I understand, Suzy. I truly do. I’ve felt that same anger but it never does any good.”

At that, Suzy stirred. “It doesn’t?”

He wanted to kiss the top of her head but of course didn’t. “No, never. Anger like that can ruin your life. It did to me. For a long time, I was ruined.”

She uncurled and looked up at him. Her face was bright red and her nose was running. “What’s that mean?”

Here—” He got out his handkerchief and gave it to her. “Blow,” he ordered softly. “It means that I did bad things because of my anger and I had to pay for it.”

“Like money?”

“No, not like money.”

She said nothing for the longest time, and then she said, “Alex said the presdent put you in jail. He said they were gonna kill you.”

Oh, he was going to have so many words with Summers. He couldn’t wait. “It’s ‘president,’ and no, they weren’t going to kill me.”

“How did you get out?”

“I was released. Or rather,” he added softly, creeping up on the painful truth, “I was rescued.”

“Who rescued you?”

He reached out and took his handkerchief, then folded it and gently wiped Suzy’s face with the clean part. “The professor, that’s who.”

Suzy frowned and pulled away. “He did?”

He nodded, remembering the surprise of it, first the boy that moved in the blink of an eye and then Charles, soaking wet and so very, very angry… “He did.”

“But he can’t walk.”

The cruelty of children, though it was nothing but the truth. He wiped Suzy’s chin. “He didn’t need to. The professor is one of the smartest, strongest men I know. He found me and released me.”

She thought on that and then said, “Like when a knight saves a lady locked up in a castle?”

Grinning in spite of himself, of the memory that hurt even now, he pocketed his handkerchief. “I suppose that’s as good an analogy as any,” he said, then amended because Suzy was still confused, “Yes, though it wasn’t quite a exciting as all that.” It was the lie of the decade but what was one more? Besides, it served its purpose. Suzy’s face had cleared—she even smiled. She was probably picturing Charles dressed in armor, riding a white horse. The image made Erik’s smile widen.

“Erik?” Suzy said.

“‘Mr. Lehnsherr,’” he repeated only this time she ignored his gentle rebuke.

“What happened to the professor? There’s a picture of him and his sister in his room and he’s standing”

He blinked and then said evenly, “He was in an accident.”

She sighed. “I know _that,_ but what kind?”

“He was shot.”

Her face grew pinched but she just nodded. “That’s what I thought. Jean and Alex wouldn’t tell me.”

“They probably didn’t want to upset you.”

“I guess.”

“Come on.” He set her down. “Let’s go inside. You can read me your book.”

“It might scare you.”

“That’s all right.”

Suzy squinted up at him. “You might have nightmares.”

“I might.”

She sighed and reached up.

With a reluctance he hoped didn’t show, he took her hand. They walked around the lake, Suzy chattering about the book, Erik wondering if the cool relief he felt was because he’d managed to divert a catastrophe or because she hadn’t asked the next logical question.

*

They read, taking turns, until late morning. He made lunch and they ate in the kitchen. Suzy asked questions about the story and Erik answered. Hank showed up just as they were finishing their meal. Erik asked Hank where he’d been and what did he think he was doing, leaving a young girl all alone? Hank gave some excuse of losing track of time and that it wouldn’t happen again. Erik suggested that Suzy might benefit from a nap and he left them with a fleeting smile sent Suzy’s way.

He went upstairs, intending to rest or at least read, but when he got to his room he kept going.

He opened the door to Charles’s sitting room like a thief, glancing around to see if anyone was about. No one, of course was, and he went inside. It was too dark and he drew the curtains back and then went to the bookcase. There were only a few books and feeling an unwilling nostalgia, he chose _À la Recherche du Temps Perdu._ After making himself comfortable on the sofa, he opened the book and began.

*

Erik read, coming up for air around three. He glanced at the bright sun, then dove back in. Sometime after four, he realized he was falling asleep. Knowing he should leave but too content to do much about it, he slipped off his shoes and settled on his back, the book on his chest. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and let sleep happen.

*

“Erik?”

Muscles tensing, Erik woke with a start. The book fell to the carpet with a muffled thump, though he tried to catch it. Charles was in the doorway. Behind him stood Logan.

With a glance backwards, Charles came into the room and Logan left.

The room was mostly in shadow though a shaft of gold light streamed in from the windows. It cast a wide stripe across the room, striking Charles, making his skin glow. Strange, but it felt as if it had been months since he’d last seen Charles, not days. “You’re back,” he murmured.

“I am.”

“How did it go?” Charles was wearing another suit, this one of pale gray wool with a white shirt and dark maroon tie.

“Only time will tell, but I think it went well.”

“What did you talk about?” He sat up. “Mutant rights?”

Charles came closer. Leaning forward, he picked up the book and studied it as he answered, “No, we talked about you.”

This time it was Erik’s heart that jerked. “What about me?”

Charles ran his thumb over the book’s spine. “I felt it best to let them know you contacted me.”

So much for confidence that Charles wouldn’t betray him. So much for surety. “And?”

“You needn’t worry. They don’t know you’re here.”

“All they have to do is ask any of—”

“They won’t,” Charles interrupted softly, frowning down at the book. “They won’t.”

He sat back, only then realizing he was half off the sofa. “Charles. What did you do?”

Charles finally looked up. “I convinced them that you were no danger to them as long as they left you alone. I convinced them to contact their counterparts in the CIA and FBI as well as Interpol. By now, they’ll be closing the file on Magneto and the incident in D.C.”

He didn’t know what to say. Charles had risked so much by just approaching the NSA. Anything could have happened, even with his powers. Erik knew too well what lengths humans would go to control his kind. “And Kennedy?”

Charles smiled wryly, and set the book on side table. “That’s where time comes in. I planted the seeds and now we’ll have to wait and see if they germinate in the right direction.”

“What do you think they’ll do?”

“Most of them are intelligent, Erik. I think they’ll come to realize that steering clear of you is in their best interests and the best interests of the country.”

He thought about that and then nodded. “All right.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “All right?”

Erik pressed his lips together and then said, “What did you think my reaction would be?”

“I wasn’t sure, but storming from the house in a rage was at the top of my list of possibilities.”

He made another face, then picked up the book and rose. “I’ll save the storming out for tomorrow.” He went to the bookcase.

“Speaking of.”

He found the book’s place and slid it in. Now was the time for Charles to insist he leave. That he’d completed his goal and it was best to move on. “Yes?”

“If you’re staying another day, I was hoping you could tell me how you helped Suzanne.”

He turned. “How do you mean?”

Charles shrugged. “She told me that she got angry and that you were there. She told me you helped her when she lost control of her powers. In not so many words, of course.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. It was pure dumb luck that she even listened to me.”

“Of course, it wasn’t. You’re smart and can be very persuasive.”

“I wish it had been you.”

“I’m sure you did.” Charles put the chair in reverse and moved to the door. “I came to find you for dinner. Afterwards, I want to hear all about it. Maybe we can come up with a plan to help her.”

“I’m not sure how much assistance I’ll be, but I’ll do what I can.” Erik followed, closing the door to the room that wasn’t his, feeling the need to step lightly as if he were walking on glass. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but something between them had changed. And, as Charles had said, only time would tell if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

***

The next day turned into days and then weeks.

Erik existed in odd, disjointed moments as if he were living each separate from the last. Without ever making a conscious decision, he stayed on at the mansion, letting the peace of the house and Charles enfold him. At first, he made every effort at satisfying Charles’s request to keep clear of the children only to give up because it was impossible. The kids were individual pains in the ass, but they were too friendly and ubiquitous to avoid for very long.

During the fourth week, Charles got a call from an old friend, a man by the name of Moonstar. Within three hours, Charles and Hank had left for Colorado. They returned with a new student, a girl by the name Danielle. Danielle was tall for her age, quiet and serious. Her powers, Charles had said, were still developing though her primary ability seemed to be that she could link mentally with animals. The other students accepted her immediately, especially Suzy and Tessa. Dani was good for the former, a natural buffer between Suzy and Tessa when Tessa grew fractious and difficult.

Suzy, Erik discovered, was like a burr. She had gotten under his skin within the first week and try as he might, he couldn’t detach her. She kept forgetting to call him by his surname and after a while, he stopped correcting her. She liked to read anything and everything, even books that were far too adult for her. Her favorites were science fiction and fantasy and she tended to form short-lived obsessions based on the books. Unicorns, flying horses, swords—he learned about them all and though her information was of the made-up variety, he never said anything to the contrary.

She was pugnacious and strong-willed but could be frightened incredibly easy. Full of energy that generally flagged around eight-thirty, she’d be going strong and then, like a flower facing a spring freeze, she’d wilt and droop. Erik soon grew used to carrying her up the stairs after she’d fallen asleep while reading or watching what little television Charles allowed.

Tessa was thirteen. Her overbearing attitude was thanks to a quite literally perfect memory. She could remember any event down to the position of the other participants as well as exact sounds and smells. Her temperament was an issue, but Erik discovered that when no one else was around, she changed and became a sweet, thoughtful girl.

Just turned ten, Jordan was a likable boy who’s ability to cause temporary blindness occasionally proved a liability. One memorable time, Erik found Logan and Hank in the kitchen, hands outstretched and bumping into things as they reassured a tearful Jordan that they knew it was an accident and they weren’t upset. Grinning, Erik had given Jordan some ice cream and took him outside to eat it on the terrace while Logan and Hank recovered.

David at seventeen was a walking library, able to gather and retain knowledge from every source. He was distant and withdrawn, and Erik decided to respect his boundaries and leave him alone.

Douglas was a year older than Tessa and had a sort of sixth sense when it came to languages. Erik saw with his own eyes as the boy absorbed a little known Georgian language within seconds and then asked about the other Kartvelian offshoots. Charles even thought he might be able to understand alien language if such a thing existed. Curious, Erik suggested Douglas accompany Hank to New York to see if that ability extended to computers. Hank called Charles that afternoon to report that Douglas had learned the computer’s programing language within minutes and was busy conversing with the mainframes via the keyboard.

In regards to Jean Grey, Erik kept his distance when he could. One telepath was enough and he didn’t want to let anything slip. He also, he found, didn’t want to make her nightmares any worse because the bad dreams hadn’t waned. One look in his head, seeing the things he’d done to people and the pleasure he’d taken… He wasn’t ashamed of those actions but he didn’t want her to know that, either.

Charles, of course, did what he could for Jean by way of counseling and guidance. Erik would watch as they sat under a tree or took a walk around the grounds. He told himself he wasn’t jealous. He told himself it was natural that two telepaths would share a deep and profound bond. He eventually came to terms with it because he had no other choice.

Feeling an uncomfortable sense of affinity, he decided to help Hank with the dampening field. If Jean wasn’t sleeping, he reasoned, it meant Charles wasn’t either. And if Charles wasn’t sleeping, the likelihood that he’d have time for anything other than rest was slim to none. So, he and Hank began working on what would become ‘the Jean Room,’ trying out various designs and not succeeding in any of them.

Erik kept his distance from Logan, too, but only because he disliked him so very much. By silent agreement, they decided to get along as that was best for Charles. It didn’t mean he was happy with the situation and during those first few weeks when he saw Logan and Charles together, he had to consciously hold his power in.

As for Charles himself, discretion wasn’t an issue because Charles was endlessly busy and therefore endlessly distracted or absent. The only meal he ever ate with the children was dinner and even that was subject to the children’s needs and his own schedule. When Charles wasn’t teaching, he was organizing and when he wasn’t organizing, he was in the city or D.C. or some other place that Erik was not. It was incredibly frustrating.

Calling on the skills garnered in prison, Erik practiced patience and formulated a new plan. Or rather, he decided to finish what he’d started years ago when he’d agreed to stay on and help Charles find new mutants. He mentally labeled it the _Seducing Charles_ strategy _,_ though it wasn’t much of a strategy as seductions generally required two participants.

Beyond that one point, the _Seducing Charles_ point, he rarely strayed. When he thought of South America or the other mutants whose hatred of mankind rivaled his own, the idea of hunting and recruiting seemed dull and pointless.

It was only much later that he realized he’d been mentally tiptoeing through those first weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for Charles to kick him out even though his own choice had already been made.

***

By the time Erik got to the second chapter of _QB VII_ , he gave up. He’d planned on a pleasant afternoon of reading and napping but somewhere in the depths of the house, the girls were shouting. It was probably Tessa and Suzy, arguing over who was going to wear what. He’d had the misfortune of being around during their last contretemps; luckily, Charles had been there, too. Even though he’d used none of his power, Charles had a way about him that calmed even the most fractious. Unfortunately, Charles wasn’t in the house today. He was once more in New York reviewing the blueprints for the renovation of his company’s new offices. It was a common occurrence, only this time he’d taken Hank, leaving Logan in charge.

And, apparently, it had been a poor decision because the shouting got louder. With an impatient huff, Erik tossed his book on the coffee table and went to see what the problem was.

He found Tessa and Suzy in the kitchen, only they weren’t arguing, they were screeching with laughter. They might have been fighting before but now they were spraying each other—and several of the other children—with water via Charles’s fancy, newly installed, extendible faucet head. Erik watched from the doorway for a moment, then called out, “Stop!”

In an instant, the children froze and looked over at him, their laughter dying as well.

It wasn’t quite what he wanted, to be stared at as if he were an ogre, so he tempered his voice, saying, “The professor will be back in a few hours—you don’t want him finding this mess, do you?”

Tessa put the faucet back in place. Dani and David went to the cupboard for some hand towels. Suzy just folded her arms and glared at Erik.

“Charles isn’t coming home today.”

Erik turned, already knowing who he’d find. Logan was standing there, watching him coolly. “He told me it was to be a short trip.”

Logan shrugged. “He called a few hours ago and said the meeting with the contractors was rescheduled for tomorrow morning.”

He shouldn’t be so angry that Charles had called Logan and not him—it was the way things were. Nodding shortly, he was about to leave when Logan said, “Hey?”

“Yes?”

“I thought I might take the kids to a movie in Danbury.”

“Oh, no,” Erik murmured. It was one thing to want to avoid the children, it was a completely different thing to have them realize it. “I’m busy. Take Summers.”

“He’s visiting his family.”

“You just want another babysitter.”

Logan grinned. “And another driver.”

Erik had planned on asking Charles to dinner, but that was clearly not going to happen. It was a shame—as much as he’d been looking forward to spending time with Charles, he’d also been craving time away from the house. Spending those few hours with Logan was not part of that plan, but… “I’ll tell you what,” he said slowly, his eye on the children who were now surreptitiously sliding through the puddles of water, “you get them to stop ruining Charles’s kitchen and I’ll go.”

Logan gave Erik an odd look, then said, “It’s a deal,” He edged by Erik and called out with mock anger, “All right, you delinquents, let’s get this cleaned up. You’ve got ten minutes. If this place is spotless and if you’re dry, we can go to a movie.”

Logan’s demands were met with squeals of excitement. Erik left them to it, wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

*

He gazed up at the marquee, not having to glance sideways to know that Logan was grinning from ear to ear. The theater was showing two movies: _The Sugarland Express_ and _Herbie Rides Again._ Charles would never forgive him if he took the kids to the former and Logan would mock him endlessly if he turned tail. So he just got out his wallet and went to the kiosk and asked the pimply teenager behind the glass, “How much for eight children and two adults for the _Herbie_ movie?”

*

The film, though bad, wasn’t hor _rend_ ously bad. It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been good, however, as Erik spent most of the time escorting the children to and from the lavatories. At one point Logan offered but Erik had said no—he really didn’t mind and it got him away from the screen. While he waited outside the bathrooms, he examined the posters and adverts.

This time it was Jordan, and Erik stood in front of the posters that announced the coming attractions. Would Charles prefer _The Three Musketeers_ or _Chinatown?_ Probably the former, but what did he know? Charles was a cipher to him these days, one he had no chance of decoding because they were rarely in the same room, not to mention the same house. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Charles was avoiding him.

A few days prior, he’d asked Hank point blank if Charles was spending more time than usual away from the mansion. After wrinkling his brow and fiddling with the engine he was building, Hank answered vaguely, _‘No? I don’t know. Maybe?’_ Erik had left, more irritated than before.

Which begged the unanswered question, how did one go about seducing when the seducee was forever moving out of reach? He’d never had much trouble in the seduction department; he’d never given it much energy, either. Women and the occasional man fell into his lap when he wasn’t even trying. But then, so much of his life had been spent on the hunt, normal things like courtship and love had seemed facile, almost juvenile in comparison, meant for others but not him.

Thinking on his barebones existence, Erik was still frowning at the posters when Jordan came running out of the bathroom. Before he could rush by, Erik said without turning around, “Hands?”

Jordan stopped and then turned back to the bathroom, this time stamping.

*

Afterwards, they took the children for ice cream and then wandered along Danbury’s main thoroughfare. The village was pretty if a little self-consciously quaint. Americans always made such a fuss over their adolescent history. Erik had been born in a country that had been thousands of years in the making before the pilgrims ever stepped foot on what was to be the United States. Charles’s students, however, seemed to enjoy it and they ran here and there, peering in the dark shop windows and talking a mile a minute.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Logan murmured as they passed a stationer’s store.

“What is?”

“All this…” Logan gestured with his cone. “Wars are being fought in every corner of the globe but you’d never know it in Danbury, Connecticut.”

“According to the plaque at the end of this street, this location was the site of many conflicts during your American Revolution,” Erik answered absently. Ten steps ahead, Suzy and Jean were walking hand in hand. Suzy was wearing another crazy outfit, this one complete with polka dot socks and striped shorts. “Maybe that’s enough for any one town.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? That war has a time and place?”

He frowned, then answered truthfully, “No, I don’t, but I don’t believe that peace is the normal human condition, either. They’re far too prone to conflict.”

Logan grunted acknowledgement, then said, “That’s not what Charles thinks.”

“I know.” Across the street, a trio of young women sat under a cafe umbrella. As if they had radar, they turned to examine first Logan and then himself. One said something to the other two and they all smiled. “But that’s Charles for you, always the dreamer.”

“Dreamers keep the world sane,” Logan replied gruffly.

Erik stopped and looked at Logan, one eyebrow raised. “That’s an odd statement considering you fight Charles on every front.”

Logan stopped, too. “What if I do? I don’t agree with everything he says, sure, but he has his reasons and they always make sense. Besides, he needs someone to look out for him.”

Just like that, the calm moment shattered, showing the darkness beneath. Reveling in the rush of heady anger, Erik tipped his head. “And you’re that man?”

Logan tossed his ice cream cone in the trash and turned to face Erik. “It’s sure as hell isn’t you. I heard what happened a few years ago. I know he was on his last legs because of you.”

Erik followed Logan’s example and threw away his ice cream, then met Logan’s challenge—they were almost standing toe to toe. “Don’t pretend you know anything about it. Hank might have told you some, but not all, not the whole.”

“What’s there to know?” Logan pointed, stabbing at the air with his finger. “You left Charles alone to go fight your own personal war and he was strung out on that crap for years because the voices were making him crazy.” He grinned, mean and vicious, then jabbed Erik’s chest with his finger. “So, yeah, I might not know it all but at least I’ve been there when he needed me. Unlike you.” He jabbed Erik again.

“Stop touching me,” Erik murmured, his mind singing with images of retribution and reprisal. There was metal everywhere—he could strangle Logan with that bicycle wheel or stab him through the heart with that iron grate.

“Guys?”

He heard the soft voice but it meant nothing to him and he leaned forward, sending out the first silen—

_‘Guys!’_

This time the voice wasn’t spoken but shouted silently, reverberating through his mind. He winced and stepped back, his hand to his temple. He looked around and found Jean standing nearby, the children gathered around her. A few steps beyond was the bicycle, now a twisted mass of steel, chrome, and rubber.

In the past, Erik would have turned and left, but Suzy was watching him with eyes that were too wide, too fearful. So, he took a breath and then smiled, barely. “Sorry,” he said. “We were having a discussion.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, giving Erik a quick glance. “Erik said Charles Bronson was a bad actor and I had to give him what for.”

Jean pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes as if to say, _‘That’s the best you could come up with?’_ but all she said was, “Suzy’s sick. I think we should get her home.”

Anger gone in a second, Erik held out his hand to Suzy. Instead, she reached up with both arms. He picked her up. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “It was probably that second box of Red Hots,” he said to Logan. “I knew it was a mistake.”

Logan shrugged. “That was your department, remember? I was just supposed to keep them from dancing in the aisles.”

A reluctant smile bent Erik’s lips at the memory of the younger children who had thought the aisles were for playing not walking. “If you want to stay, I can take her home. You should be able to manage with the station wagon.”

“No,” Logan said, “it’s late; we should get going. We’ll meet you at the cars. I think you have some explaining to do.” He curled his lip and then jerked his head towards a kid who was running up to the bicycle, hands raised in distress.

Erik tightened his lips, then handed Suzy to Logan and reached for his wallet.

*

As soon as they got home, Logan put the children to bed while Erik made sure the kitchen was as it should be. Tired but not tired, he stayed up until eleven, finally admitting that he was waiting in case Charles came home. Giving it up for a lost cause, he made sure the doors were locked and then went upstairs.

On his way to his room, he looked in on Suzy. The older students had their own rooms but the children all shared. Tessa was fast asleep on the far bed; Suzy was also asleep, flat on her back, her purple rhino clutched to her chest.

During his first month, Erik had suggested she get rid of the toy as it was old and ragged. Suzy had burst into tears and run away. Nonplussed, Erik had asked Hank about it and was told that Suzy was carrying the rhino when she’d arrived at the house. Assuming the toy had been a gift from her parents, Erik had never brought up the subject again but mostly because he’d still been trying to keep the children at arm’s length.

Those days seemed so long ago and he sat on the edge of the bed, feeling an unwanted tenderness. Suzy’s hair was a mess and a thick strand lay across her cheek. He brushed it aside and pressed the back of his fingers against her forehead. He felt a bit foolish—he really didn’t know what he was doing. Her temperature, however, seemed normal and he suddenly dredged up an image, that of his mother stroking his hot forehead with her cool fingers after he’d been sick.

Swallowing a lump, Erik rose and then tugged the bedcovers up around Suzy’s shoulders. He left the room, making sure to close the door without a sound.

*

As it somehow had to be, Erik spent the next weeks trying to corner Charles with no luck.

Along with the new computer company, Charles had decided it was time for additional school staff. He and Hank spent weeks interviewing teachers, assistants, cooks, and even a proper nurse. They were all to start in January, but in the meantime, more employees necessitated more space. After discussing it with Logan and Hank, Charles opened up the unused third floor. Closed for decades, the rooms all needed work, the worst of them requiring new floors, walls, and lighting. Erik kept to the sidelines as much as possible, nodding politely whenever he met Charles escorting a potential employee around the school.

Beyond that, Charles was consumed with the usual: running the school, classroom duties, caring for the children and more trips to D.C. and New York.

At one point, Erik found himself speculating on Logan’s and Hank’s comments. Each seemed to think that Charles was fragile, needing an abundance of care and assistance. From Erik’s perspective, Charles had everything under control. If that were the case, what was the point of staying on? His plan and feelings aside, maybe Charles preferred the regimented, monkish life. Why batter against that wall? Any overtures would no doubt be rebuffed and he always imagined Charles’s response to be something in the realm of, _‘Sorry, old friend, but I’m much too busy to have sex with you. Maybe sometime next year?’_

It was almost laughable, except…

Except there were times, too few to count, when he would come across Charles unexpectedly, alone in the hall or in a classroom. Focused on whatever he was doing, Charles would look up and his expression would change. Like a cloud rolling back to reveal a bright blue sky, there would be a quick flash of the old Charles, raw and undisguised, just as he’d been in the old days. The moment never lasted very long and always ended with a pleasant, _‘Do you need something?’_ or, _‘I was just off to…’_

Unwilling to break the shell of Charles’s self-imposed calm, Erik always gave a non-committal answer and then backed away, needing solitude to regain his equilibrium.

But, that’s what kept him going, what kept him tethered to the mansion, those little moments of possibility and—God help him—hope.

***

It went on like that for another five weeks until a deus ex machina in the form of one beautiful CIA agent changed everything.

***

Erik was coming down the stairs for dinner when he was almost bowled over by Tessa, Dani, and Suzy, running up. He grabbed the newel post the same time he reached for Tessa’s arm. “Hold on,” he said. “You’re going to break your necks.”

Tessa and Suzy began to jump up and down, each shouting, “She’s here, she’s here!” Dani said nothing but her face was flushed and her eyes were shining.

Erik silently asked for patience, then straightened up and let go of Tessa’s arm. “Who’s here and what has she to do with you trying to kill yourself on these stairs?”

Tessa sighed dramatically and stopped bouncing. “It’s Miss Taggert, the professor’s girlfriend. She’s come for dinner and she brought us presents!”

Suzy chimed in with a nod and a spontaneous jump, “It’s probably just books because that’s what we got last time but maybe not!”

He hadn’t heard much past, _‘the professor’s girlfriend,’_ and he reminded himself that they were just kids and couldn’t possibly know anything about Charles’s personal life. “Her name is ‘MacTaggert’ and I believe it’s, ‘Mrs.’”

Suzy nodded eagerly. “She said she might take us for a ride in her car. It doesn’t have a top!”

“It’s a convertible,” Tessa corrected. “It’s red and it goes really fast.”

“And why are you screaming and running about?”

“Because the professor said we can’t eat at the big table until we make ourselves presentable,” Tessa answered tartly.

Erik nodded towards the second floor. “Then off you go. Quietly, and slowly, please.”

The girls took off, this time at a more sedate pace until they reached the second floor. He heard giggles and then pounding steps as they began to run again.

Frowning, Erik muttered, “Girlfriend? I don’t think so,” and continued down the stairs.

It wasn’t hard to find their visitor—he followed the sounds of laughter coming from the rarely-used front drawing room. Some of the children were already there, as were Logan, Hank, and Alex. Charles was sitting on the sofa; next to him was Moira MacTaggert. Moira’s back was to the door and Erik paused at the threshold, taking in the scene.

Moira was wearing a beige dress and high heels. In the afternoon sun, her hair caught the light and Erik found himself thinking, _‘Damn her,’_ and then, _‘Shit,’_ when he realized that out of all people, he couldn’t be seen by Moira MacTaggert, CIA. What had he been thinking?

He started to back away, the movement catching Charles’s eye.

Without blinking, Charles shook his head very slightly and then said smoothly, “Moira, here’s someone you haven’t yet met, my friend, Erik.” He gestured towards the door, giving Erik another, _‘It’s all right,’_ look, adding, “Erik, this is Agent Moira MacTaggert. She works for the CIA.”

Moira had turned and was smiling. “Hello, Erik,” she said with no trace of recognition in her voice or posture.

Feeling as if he were approaching a cat that might turn into a tiger, Erik went over and shook Moira’s hand. Her friendly expression didn’t alter and he let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Pleased to meet you.” The last time he’d seen Moira, distance had fooled him into thinking she hadn’t changed. She had—there were lines around her eyes and her jaw was a little thicker. Those changes hadn’t made her any less attractive and he caught himself cursing silently once more.

“Are you a teacher here?” Moira asked.

Erik sat down in the armchair nearest the sofa. “I—”

“We haven’t yet decided,” Charles interrupted Erik with a charming smile. “Erik’s skills are many but he excels in history, especially the ancient variety.”

“Because I’m so very old, Charles?” Erik said with a smile he hoped was equally charming.

Everyone laughed, including Erik. He glanced around at the students. They were watching with various levels of comprehension. Either Charles had silently asked them to play along or they had voluntarily closed ranks. The former made him happy, the latter made him slightly uncomfortable though he hadn’t time to analyze why, for just at that moment Suzy and Tessa rushed into the room with Dani right behind.

“Walk, please,” Charles called out sternly.

The two girls slowed to a quick march. Tessa and Dani went to stand by Jean but, surprisingly, Suzy came to Erik and settled against his side. He could do nothing but put his arm around her shoulders. When he looked up, Charles was watching with that familiar blank expression.

“I’m told, Agent MacTaggert,” Erik said, searching for anything that would make Charles not look at him like that, “that you have a very nice car.”

Moira smiled and gazed down at Suzy. “It’s ‘Moira,’ please, and I do. If I have time, I’m going to take some young people out for a drive.”

Suzy squeezed Erik’s knee and called out, “I want to go first!” The other students began to clamor for the same.

Charles responded instantly, waving a hand and raising his voice, “Enough, please!” The calls lowered to a murmur. “I realize,” he added, “that you’re excited that Agent MacTaggert is here, but dinner is almost ready and you need to settle down. If you all behave and finish your meal, maybe Moira can take you out for a _very_ short drive.”

By the looks on their faces, the children weren’t thrilled with the _maybe_ and the _very,_ but they nodded as one.

“Then go on in,” Charles added with a nod towards the door. “We’ll be there, shortly. Alex, can you help them?”

“You, too,” Erik said to Suzy, still clinging to his side. She started to argue but he shook his head. With an audible, “Hmph,” she turned on her heel and trudged dejectedly after the others.

“It’s like you told them they were having liver for supper,” Moira said with a little moué. “You didn’t need to send them off for me, Charles.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Charles said. “They need to learn so many things and one of those things is how to behave. Whether they will it or no, they’re going to represent the mutant race and part of that education must be how to get along with themselves and others.”

There were so many things Erik wanted to say to that but if the children could learn manners then so could he. He pressed his lips together and glanced over. Charles was watching him steadily; Logan was smirking and Hank just look confused.

“Speaking of, Charles,” Moira said, glancing from Charles to Logan as if she sensed an odd undercurrent. “I told you I had a hidden agenda for coming here?”

“Yes, you did,” Charles said, his smile reappearing. “I assumed it had to do with a new student.”

Moira smiled, perplexed. “Now, how did you guess that? Anyone would think you’re a mind reader.”

Charles shrugged. “Just an educated hunch.”

Erik tipped his head. So Moira didn’t know that Charles had regained his powers. Either that, or she didn’t remember that he had powers to begin with. Interesting.

“You’re right,” Moira nodded. “I’ve come across this girl and I’m hoping you can help.”

Charles twisted slightly to prop his elbow on the back of the sofa. “Tell me about her.”

“Well, she’s like you. I mean, like your students. Her name is Petra Nord. Her parents were from Denmark but Petra was born here in New York. She’s been living on the streets ever since their deaths in a freak rock slide accident.” Moira turned to face Charles. “Everyone from Social Services is afraid of her because she’s threatened more than a few of them. I know it’s all for show. Underneath that anger is a very terrified young woman.” She reached out and touched Charles’s hand. “Can you help her?”

By the time Moira had finished, Charles’s eyes were damp. He covered Moira’s hand with his own and said, “Of course I can. I’ll go with you to fetch her. You said she’s living on the streets—what part of the city would she most likely frequent?”

“Hell’s Kitchen, though it’s been weeks since anyone has seen her.”

“Such a familiar story,” Charles murmured with a slight frown. “It will be too late to get her tonight. I’ll drive down with you tomorrow and we’ll see if we can track her down.”

“Charles,” Moira said. “I knew I could count on you.” And then she leaned over and gave Charles a hug.

Erik had watched the whole thing with forced passivity, telling himself that jealousy wasn’t called for and he’d be making a fool of himself, anyway. It didn’t help, and resentment over Moira’s brazen embrace—over Charles _letting_ her—warmed his throat and then burned in his chest. He’d waited so many months, had been patient for so long and along comes this _woman_ , from the CIA, no less, and Charles melted like wax in the hot sun. It was infuriating and he clenched his hands into fists. A small brass figurine on the coffee table moved and jerked a few centimeters. With a flick of his fingers, the figurine shuddered and shook, gouging the wood surface.

Over Moira’s shoulder, Charles caught Erik’s gaze and their eyes locked. In a split second, Charles’s eyes widened and then narrowed. They stared at each other, he and Charles, and it was like that episode with Suzy—the world broken apart in a moment, splintering into light and muffled sound. Erik could see nothing but Charles and hear nothing but the sound of his own furious heart.

And then, Charles smiled and pushed Moira gently away. “Of course you can count on me. You can always count on me.” He squeezed her arms and let her go. “However, if we don’t start dinner soon, we’ll have a mutiny on our hands.”

“We can’t have that,” Moira agreed.

Erik sat back. Logan was examining him with a calculating stare as if wondering which body part to skewer first. Hank was gaping, his face flushed red. Well, if Hank hadn’t known where Erik’s interests lay, he did now. Hank might be a nerd, but there were some things even he understood.

“Hank?” Charles asked, gesturing to Moira. “Will you please show our guest to the dining room? Logan, will you make sure the children actually washed up? I’ll be along shortly.”

Logan stood without a word but Hank jumped up like his pants were on fire, nodding several times. “Sure. Yeah. I’d be happy to. Moira?” Hank nodded again and waved to the door. “It’s this way.”

Moira rose. She turned and glanced down at Erik and then back at Charles. She frowned, her smile fading once more. “I’m all yours, Dr. McCoy.”

It took the three of them about thirty seconds to leave and in that time, Erik got up and took Moira’s place and then crossed his legs. ‘Well,’ he wanted to say as he rested his arm along the top of the sofa, _‘Well?’_

Charles responded to the unspoken challenge by picking up a throw pillow and straightening it. “That was uncalled for,” he said after a long moment.

“I don’t know what you mean, Charles.”

Charles sighed. “Erik,” he said, the same as before in New York, as if he were beyond tired and wanted just to be gone. “This is what I was talking about. This is why you shouldn’t have come. It’s why you shouldn’t stay.”

Erik stilled and then repeated flatly, “I don’t know what you mean, Charles.”

Charles gave him a hard look. “Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean.” He drew a great breath and then let it out slowly. “But we can’t have it out now—the others are waiting.”

There was less than three feet of space between them. It would be so easy to reach out and catch Charles’s perfectly tailored lapel and drag him close. “Let them wait.”

“That would be rude.”

“As if I care what that woman thinks of me.” The words were harsh, bitter, giving too much away and he tried again, this time more evenly, “She won’t care.”

“No, but the children will. I asked them to keep quiet about you. They might let something slip and I want to be there, just in case.”

That, at least, was a reasonable excuse and Erik nodded once. “Tomorrow, then.”

Charles gave him a neutral, blank look and bobbed his head. “All right.”

“Just the two of us, in town, over dinner.”

“All right.”

Erik hesitated, and then asked because he had to, “Do you promise?”

It was a mistake. Like his comment about Moira, the question exposed too much and Charles cocked his head, saying gently but somehow bleakly, “You know I do.”

Erik nodded, and then again, like he was Hank or one of those stupid nodding dogs one saw in every third car; he made himself stop.

“We should go,” Charles said.

Erik pushed to his feet. It was going to happen. He was going to admit his feelings, Charles would do the same, and it was going to happen. Once more, he felt oddly off balance, as if the world had shifted in its orbit. “Do you need help?”

“Yes, please.”

Charles did most of the work but Erik brought the chair closer and then assisted, both hands on Charles’s back. If he’d felt odd before, just the pressure of Charles’s wool-covered back and sides made everything worse.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course, I am.” He told his greedy hands to let go, then straightened up and stepped back.

“Are you coming?” Charles said without turning around.

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“Very well. I’ll see you later on.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I forgot…” Charles turned the chair around. “Hank and I are to drive back with Moira. We left the car in the city. And then there’s the girl.”

Charles wasn’t smiling, but his face was flushed and his eyes were a bright, bright blue—he looked so lovely and it was all Erik could do to keep still, to say sedately, “Then I’ll see you when you return.”

“I’ll call. If I’m able.”

“I’ll be here.”

Charles nodded, then left the room.

***

Erik didn’t sleep much that night. At one point, he thought he heard someone cry out but when he went to the hall, everything was still and quiet.

The next morning he sprang out of bed, full of nervous energy, almost grateful that Charles was away. Breakfast was a quick meal of coffee and toast for him and cereal for the kids. Jean came in halfway through. She smiled tiredly at everyone and then got her own meal. Erik thought about asking her if she was okay but she was avoiding his gaze, as if silently pleading for no questions.

Still on the, _it’s finally going to happen_ high and needing a distraction, Erik left soon after, grabbing the grocery list and mumbling something about supplies. He needed to strategize and he couldn’t do that with a telepath in the room.

***

He spent an hour at the market when he should have been in and out in ten minutes. Having a difficult time concentrating on the task at hand, he kept picturing dinner with Charles and how it would play out. They would eat and argue like they always did and then they’d leave the restaurant and have sex.

Even with their recent difficulties that’s how it would be and it was the latter that bothered him. Charles’s physical issues aside, sex in a car was messy and by necessity, brief. What he wanted to do to Charles—what he wanted Charles to do to _him—_ required a big bed, lots of time, and several kinds of lubricant.

The fantasies were distracting and when he got home, he found he’d forgotten half the list. He went back to the store, determined to put all thoughts of sex and Charles out of his head. For the most part he was successful and he was able to get through the rest of the morning with only a few more lapses.

***

Two days and he should have known. Charles was devoted to his students, present and future, and no effort was too great. All of which meant that Charles didn’t return that day but the day after.

Late in the afternoon of the first day, Charles called, telling Logan that he and Hank would be another day. Apparently the girl was skilled at evading everyone, even himself. Charles was sure they’d be home the following afternoon. Logan found Erik in the small study and relayed the news. Feeling the burn of incipient anger because Charles had talked to Logan and not him, Erik nodded shortly and spent the evening alone, his spirits quenched.

He greeted the following morning with little enthusiasm. He dawdled about the kitchen, taking too long over his coffee, until he realized he was sulking, his mood almost as sour as Suzy at her worst. He got up and went to Hank’s room, the bare bones of an idea forming. Feeling too much satisfaction, he rifled through Hank’s dresser and found an old pair of jeans and an equally old t-shirt. When he’d changed clothes, he went upstairs to the third floor.

Logan and Alex had finished the work on all but one of the rooms, the one on the far end of east wing. According to Charles, it had once been a drawing room, used during the cold New York winters for parties and the like. It was long and narrow, with big windows on one side and a large fireplace on the east wall.

It was also a lost cause, the product of years of neglect. Voice filled with regret, Charles had said he wasn’t sure anything could be done about it, that he’d been lucky that most of the damage was relegated to a yard-square spot above the fireplace. Logan had suggested they call a professional and Charles had said he’d think about it.

Now standing below the ruined wall, Erik examined the area. For whatever reason, the exterior brick had decayed allowing moisture in. There was a hole the size of his head up near ceiling and the wallpaper and plaster were sloughing off in layers. The main problem was the height of the room. The lath and plaster could be replaced but the outside brick was another story. Three floors up, the area had to be at least twelve meters off the ground. Even a cursory examination would be impossible at that height.

Unless one could fly, Erik thought, and with a surge of excitement, he strode from the room.

It took him some time—the house was a monstrosity, built and then added on over the years and he circled once on foot before he found the area he was looking for. Hidden by an out-thrust addition, the space between the two walls was so tight, there couldn’t be more than four meters between. The proximity of wall to wall had acted as a shelter, keeping out the sun and encouraging damp. All around on the ground were fragments of the brick that had fallen over the years—some were half buried in the dirt and grass.

Craning his head back, Erik rose, palms towards the ground.

He examined the decay. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought even though he could see straight through to the room in one spot. It would take a dozen or so bricks to cover it all up but that was all.

Lowering back down, he picked up one of the bricks and went to the gardener’s outbuilding.

He wasn’t surprised to find a pallet of bricks against the far wall—a place this big would always need repairing. The bricks, however, didn’t match the original brick and were a couple shades lighter. Erik compared the old with the new, finally shrugging. Charles wouldn’t care—he was never that picky.

The trouble was transporting them aloft and Erik knelt and placed his palms on the stack. Like an itch, he could feel the slight burn of iron and the tingle of magnesium. He smiled.

“What are you doing?”

For once the interloper wasn’t Suzy. It was David, followed by Jean. Erik sat back on his heels and gestured. “I’m going to re-brick the wall of the salon on the third floor.”

“The professor said we couldn’t fix it,” Jean replied.

Erik brushed off his hands. “I know.” He’d need mortar, water, a bucket and a spade.

David knelt beside him. “What are you going to do?”

“Fix it.”

Jean knelt next to David. “Can we help?”

***

It took them an hour to prepare everything and another to repair the wall. On the ground, David spread the mortar on a brick and Jean sent it up to where Erik waited to tap it in. It was hot and tricky work. He had to levitate while he placed and grouted the tiles. At one point his mind strayed and he had a quick vision of Charles embracing Moira. He almost fell. Catching himself in the knick of time, he sternly told himself to pay attention and went back to it.

At last, the repair was finished and covered with a sheet of plastic. Erik floated back down and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. It would take days, maybe weeks, for the mortar to set but he thought it would hold.

“That looks great,” Jean said, shielding her eyes with her hand. “What now?”

“Now, we get to work on the interior.” He expected excuses or grumbling, but what he got was a “Cool,” from David and a, “I’ll take the wheelbarrow to the shed,” from Jean.

***

Back inside, Erik examined the wall again. It truly was a mess. He had no idea how to replace the lath and plaster, which meant Logan was right—an expert was needed. Luckily, there was plenty of other work to go around and he asked Jean and David if they would clean the woodwork and fixtures while he got to work on the filthy wallpaper.

It was almost peaceful, he found, gently scrubbing the wallpaper, revealing a subtle medallion pattern of gold on gold. After lunch, Logan and the younger children showed up and, surprisingly, asked to help. Erik put the kids to work on the baseboards and asked Logan if he’d take care of the fireplace. He moved on to the difficult task of cleaning the tall, leaded glass windows. Using Charles’s rickety ladder, he methodically washed away the years as he listened to the children squabble and laugh.

***

“Be careful,” Erik said absently. He was almost done—he was up on the ladder, applying varnish to the last window frame. “I don’t want a repeat of before.”

“I’ve got it,” David answered.

He glanced over his shoulder. David was very carefully pouring varnish from an old Campbell’s soup can back into the container. His bare feet were mottled brown, a result of Tessa’s efforts, pouring too fast with too little attention. She’d managed to get most of the varnish off the floor, but there were still traces of it here and there. Erik hadn’t barked—the floor needed resanding, anyway. “So, I see.”

Without looking up, David smiled.

Erik returned to the trim. He’d asked Logan to take the kids outside hours ago. Even though all the windows were open, he hadn’t wanted them breathing in the fumes. David had insisted on staying and they’d worked, chatting about this and that.

It had been his first real chance at getting to know David. His initial impressions had been accurate if a little callous. David wasn’t distant—he was just suspicious of anyone over thirty.

With his gift of instant knowledge, David’s parents had thought they had a prodigy on their hands. Being relatively poor, they’d pushed him from one scholarship to the next, the upshot was that David had graduated high school at thirteen and college at fifteen. With three degrees and no place to advance further because no one would hire a fifteen-year old genius, David had found work as an assistant to a powerful CEO by the name of Benedict Kine. He would have still been there if it hadn’t been for a chance encounter with Charles. Charles had discovered that the Kine was using the boy to steal secrets from his competitors and kept him as a virtual slave in one of his office suites.

When Charles had rescued David, he discovered that isolation and fear had long-since completed what the boy’s parents had started. David was uncommunicative and sullen, distrustful of everyone, even Charles. It had taken a month for David to speak to Charles, another two for him to open up to the other students.

David, of course, hadn’t just come out and blabbed all of that. Using information from Charles and bits from David himself, Erik had read between the lines to make up the whole.

Unable to quash the sudden need to help, Erik added with forced indifference, “When you’re done, why don’t you go into town and get a new pair of jeans. Those are ruined.”

“It’s okay,” David said. “They’re not that bad.”

“They are, and I’ll pay for it.”

David stopped pouring. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course, I am.” He returned to his work. “There’s cash on my nightstand. You can take my car.”

There was no answer and then David said, “Okay.”

“Don’t wreck it. Charles would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

“Okay.”

He waited and it was maybe ten seconds before David closed the varnish container and then hurried from the room.

He smiled. Charles had cautioned against showing favoritism but it wasn’t favoritism if it was simply singling each of the children out to help them. Charles might be the taskmaster, teacher and mother hen, but Erik could be everything else.

Startled by the path of his thoughts, he paused too long and varnish dripped to the floor. “Damn it,” he muttered and got down off the ladder to fetch a rag.

***

 _What an improvement,_ was Erik’s smug thought as he dried his hands on the last of his clean rags. The sunny afternoon had given way to a cloud-covered evening, but even with the lack of light, the change in the room was startling. The big space was now open and inviting—it would be the perfect spot for science experiments or maybe art classes.

“Hello.”

Erik turned, his heart suddenly in his throat.

Charles was at the door. He was still wearing his overcoat and was in his portable wheelchair.

“Hello,” Erik said.

Rolling into the room, Charles stopped in the middle. He looked around then went to the damaged wall. “Did you mend the brick on the outside?”

“I did, with Jean and David’s help.”

“Amazing.”

“It will be amazing if the rain doesn’t damage the mortar.”

Charles shrugged. “Still.”

“I couldn’t fix the plaster.”

“Yes, but you managed the hardest part.” Charles turned around. “And varnished all the wood and washed the walls?”

“It wasn’t just me. Logan and the children helped.”

Charles smiled, still examining the room. “The latter of which means that they made a mess and you cleaned up after them.”

“It wasn’t as bad as all that.”

Turning, Charles started to say something but then raised an eyebrow and gave Erik a quick up and down. “What on earth are you wearing? Is that Hank’s shirt?”

Erik shifted from foot to foot. Hank’s clothes were too small and showed more than a little skin. Not wanting varnish on his shoes, he’d taken them off hours ago. In his bare feet with the too-small shirt, he felt half naked standing there in front of Charles. “And his jeans. I hope he won’t mind.”

“Would you care if he did?”

“What do you think?” He really hoped Charles wasn’t reading his mind

Charles snorted but his smile widened fractionally.

“David stayed, by the way. To help out, I mean,” Erik added, fishing for words, suddenly needing the verbal to use as a buffer against the images that refused to go away. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is that.” Charles glanced down. “I saw him just now, coming from Danbury. He told me you offered the use of your car.”

“Is that all right?”

Charles looked back up. “Of course, it is.”

Surprised by the mild rebuke in Charles’s response, Erik threw the rag into the pail. “It was just sitting in your garage, being of no use to anyone.”

Charles didn’t answer.

The need to babble got worse. “How did your retrieval go?”

Charles sighed and shook his head. “It didn’t. The girl is very skittish. I decided it would be better to try again later when we had more time. Moira is going to keep tabs on her ”

“Being watched by the CIA,” Erik mused. “That won’t frighten her at all.”

“Erik—”

He went to the corner where the girls had been working and picked up a pile of rags. Suzy had left her headband behind; he picked that up, too. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Charles wheeled to the door, then said, “About that meal…”

Here it came and it was a good thing his back was to Charles because his smile was too broad, too eager. “Yes?”

“I thought we might stay in.”

Up and down like a fucking yo-yo, that’s what it was like living with Charles. But it was all right—even with the children nearby, he’d find a way to make it work. “All right.”

“I asked Hank and Logan to take the children to the city after they’ve finished their dinner. Just in case.”

Smile dying completely, Erik turned. “That sounds ominous. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

 _‘Don’t lie,’_ he wanted to say because Charles could barely look at him. “All right.”

“I need to wash up.”

“Me, too.”

“I’ll meet you in my study in an hour?”

“All right.” He tossed the rest of the rags in the pail. “Do you want me to make dinner for the children?”

“No, thank you. Logan is taking care of it.”

The idea made Erik want to hit something or someone. “Then, I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Yes.”

***

Erik showered thoroughly, though he was unable to get all the varnish off his feet and arms, even when he scrubbed his skin red. He hesitated before the foggy bathroom mirror, examining his own face. He had no idea what was going to happen in an hour. The chance that he was going be out on his ass seemed far greater than his chance of ending up in Charles’s bed, so there was no point in behaving as if this were a date.

Still, as if on automatic, he wiped the mirror clean and got out his safety razor. With a few moves, mechanical and precise, he shaved off his mustache and beard. He stroked his jaw, examining his face again. Odd. It was only hair, but it was like he’d just become _him,_ again.

He dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved mock turtleneck that he exchanged for a long-sleeved version at the last minute. When he was ready, he left his room at a measured pace, feeling as if he were going to his own execution.

Downstairs, he found Charles in the study, waiting by the open windows. Charles had showered as well—his hair was still wet and tucked behind his ears. It wasn’t fair. With all that was going on, with all that was probably to come, it wasn’t fair that even Charles’s ears were sexy.

Just then, Charles looked around. “Would you like a drink?” He asked, nodding to a decanter of whiskey on the side table.

“I suppose I’d better.” Charles gave him an, _‘Erik, please,’_ look. He just shrugged and sat on the sofa.

Charles poured the drinks and returned, the two glasses carefully balanced in one hand.

Feeling stupid because he should have helped, Erik got up with a, “Let me…” He took the glasses and then waited until Charles came to a stop next to the sofa. One glass for himself, one for Charles and then they were settled. Erik crossed his legs and tipped his glass in a salute, acknowledging Charles’s right to first volley.

Only, Charles didn’t attack, didn’t shout or accuse. He sat there with his drink in his hand, watching Erik with a vague smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you remember that day in Washington?” he finally asked.

Thrown, Erik could only nod. “Of course, I do.” Only, maybe he didn’t because Charles was acting a little weird so he added, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when Raven shot you.”

“After she kicked me in the head? No, I was unconscious until you woke me up.”

“And after? Did you never see her again? Did she never tell you of our conversation?”

Thoroughly confused, he could only shake his head. “I haven’t seen Mystique since that day. Hank told me she’s out rescuing mutants.”

Charles’s expression softened. “She is, indeed. I’ve only seen her a few times; she brought me Jordan and Suzanne.”

Outside, the threatening storm had arrived. Distant lightning brightened the sky for a split second and was followed by lazy thunder. Through the open window, Erik could smell the faint scent of ozone and imminent rain. It was a good thing he’d covered the new brickwork with plastic. “What are you getting at, Charles?”

Charles set his drink down. “What I’m getting at is that I gave her a choice. Or rather, I took myself out of the equation and left it all up to her. She was going to kill Trask and I stepped aside. In the end, she did the right thing. In the end, I believe by doing the hardest thing she’d ever done, she saved us from a future that would have meant the death of us all, humans and mutants alike.”

Erik took a moment to answer, remembering that day. The summer heat, the terror in those men’s eyes, his own heart full of grim elation … It had been so wonderful and so horrible, both at once. “Are you offering me the same?”

Charles shook his head. “No, I’m telling you that for the last two months, I’ve been waiting for you to leave and I can’t do that anymore. It’s time for me to do _my_ hardest thing.”

He placed his glass on the coffee table, not thirsty in any way. “And that is?”

“You,” Charles said, smiling with no happiness, no joy. “I’ve spent so many sleepless nights worrying you’d be gone when I got up. Worrying that you’d decide to enact another personal vendetta and take my students with you. That you’d hurt another human because humans had hurt you. I can’t do that anymore.”

Lightning flashed again, followed by a sweep of thunder, now louder. “Are you asking me to leave?” He’d prepared for it, yes, but still, it was stunning how painful Charles’s simple words were.

Charles leaned forward, his eyes like blue flame. “No. I’m asking you to choose a new path. I’m asking you to commit to me, to commit to what I’m trying to do here. I’m asking you to be there for the children when I can’t. And if something happens to me, I’m asking you to stay and protect them and love them as I do.”

Expecting everything but that, Erik stilled. His mouth was dry and his pulse was just a dull throb in his throat. “Do you mean if you’re incapacitated?”

“Or killed, yes.”

How could Charles speak so casually of his own death? “What about Hank and Logan?”

Charles sat back with a small shrug. “Hank is too young and he’s not a natural leader. Logan has stayed because I asked it of him, but he’s itching to be on the road.”

“And me?”

“I’m asking because you _are_ a natural leader. Because the children already look up to you. Because you have the abilities and the strength of mind to protect them should the need arise.”

“And you? What would you get out of this arrangement?”

Charles glanced down before murmuring, “I want you to stay because it’s better when you’re here. Contrary to what I just said, when it comes to the children, I’ve found that I don’t worry quite so much when you’re around.”

Lighting flashed again. This time the thunder was immediate and sharp, and Erik felt the echo of it in his head and chest. “What if I can’t?” he hedged. “What if—good intentions aside—I hurt someone? What would you do?”

Charles looked up. “You speak if you’re a loaded weapon, ready to go off at any time.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not.”

It was raining in earnest now, a loud rush of water on stone and Erik listened to it for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling—it was all too much, this thing that Charles had asked of him. The only emotion he recognized was the need to get up and leave. “I _am_ a weapon, Charles,” he murmured, finally. “We all are, even you.” He forced a smile. “You’re the most dangerous man I know. You can take everything a man is or will ever be and leave nothing but a useless shell. What is more dangerous than that? More horrifying than that?”

Visibly stung, Charles said, “I would never injure another of my own volition.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Charles shrugged. “If you hurt someone by accident or otherwise, we’ll deal with it then.”

It was such a plain, flinty response. He’d expected something along the lines of, _‘It wouldn’t matter to me,’_ or _‘It won’t come to that,’_ and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. Violence was a part of his life. Violence was natural means to achieving most goals.

As if recognizing Erik’s inner confusion, Charles’s tone softened, “I know you’ve always been afraid of yourself, Erik. I know when you’re angry or distressed, you reach for the simple solution of anger and violence. I’d like you to remember that’s not all you are.”

Charles words, so close to his own thoughts, were almost frightening. He wished he could stand and walk out, but he was locked in place. “So you’re asking me to trust myself?”

“In a way,” Charles said after a long moment, his voice almost too low for Erik to hear. “Mostly, I’m asking you to help _me_ trust _you._ After what you did to Raven, what you did in D.C.…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s possible, I’m not sure I’m capable anymore, but I want to try. _”_

Lightning and thunder crashed at the same time and the lights flickered. Erik ignored the turmoil, focusing instead on the thing that Charles hadn’t said. “You’re not that far gone, Charles,” he said with a reassurance he didn’t feel. “You’re not broken.”

Charles tipped his head and gave Erik an eerie, fey half-smile. “Are you sure about that? Sometimes I feel like I’ve been wrong ever since Cuba.”

The words were bald, said with no self-pity, as if Charles was simply stating a fact. Erik shivered.

Over the last few months, whenever he’d thought of that beach, he’d mentally glanced over it, remembering that other moment on the plane when he’d apologized. Charles had literally shrugged away his, ‘ _I’m sorry,’_ as if it hadn’t mattered. Or maybe more accurately, as if the subject was still too painful and raw.

“I’d do anything to turn back time, Charles,” Erik said, daring to lean forward to touch the back of Charles’s hand. “Even if it meant giving up my own life, I’d change it if I could.”

Charles moved away from Erik’s touch. “I wasn’t talking about the bullet, Erik.”

Hand and hearty empty, Erik stayed there, still reaching out, confused. He thought he’d known the depths of Charles’s anger and grief but it seemed as if he’d underestimated everything. “All right,” he heard himself say.

Charles frowned. “All right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to think about it?”

“No,” Erik said, realizing as he spoke that he truly meant it. He wanted to stay and be the man Charles saw. He wanted to stay and find himself again; he wanted to help Charles do the same. “I might as well. I’ve gotten too used to your brats.”

Charles gave him a pale smile. “I wasn’t lying to Moira when I suggested that you’d make a good teacher.”

He wished so very badly to kiss Charles but the time wasn’t right. He was still shivering, an ill-defined tremble that could either be a result of the cold breeze blowing through the window or the fact that he’d just taken a step into unknown territory.

When he’d come to this house, his plan had been to scratch an itch and then move on. Time, acclimation, and Charles, had changed all that. What Charles had just asked of him, what he’d just agreed to, went beyond the physical. It was more of a union of the forever and ever type, and he needed time to think about what it meant. Charles obviously did, too. He was still watching with half a frown, as if he too felt the gravity of the moment.

Erik got to his feet. “So anyone can be a teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Children?” He picked up his glass. “What does that say about the quality of the education?”

“That the proprietor knows what he’s doing when it comes to mutants. That the proprietor knows what he’s doing when it comes to you.”

He tipped the glass in Charles’s direction and then finished off the whiskey. The rain had stopped and the air smelled of wet leaves and damp pavement. He went to the window and pulled it closed. “What’s for dinner?”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Dinner?”

“I’m hungry and you have to be.” A strange lightness was filling his chest; he felt at once euphoric and terrified.

Charles turned his chair to the door. “How so?”

He retrieved Charles’s glass, then met Charles by the door and walked sedately beside him. “Because you eat like a bird, Charles.”

Charles shrugged. “One of the first things they told me when I got injured was that I’d have to watch what I eat or I’d get fat. ”

Back in ‘73 when they’d all first come to the mansion, Erik had watched from his bedroom window as Charles got Hank to show off his skills. They’d set out running, Charles giving it all he could and even from the odd angle, Erik had been able to see the wide grin on Charles’s face as Hank had handily beat him. Charles had never been much of an athlete but there was a world of difference between not wanting to do something and unable to do something.

Clearing his throat, shoving the past back where it belong, Erik murmured—mostly because he knew it would make Charles smile—“Then we’ll have to find new and creative ways to burn off calories.”

Charles snorted and then did indeed smile.

***

They ate dinner in the kitchen, a simple meal of leftovers because they were both too tired to make something from scratch. Afterwards, Erik washed the dishes while Charles went to the study to call Logan at the Hyatt Regency. When Erik returned to the study, Charles was saying, “No, there’s no need. We’re fine. I’ll see you at dinnertime.”

Charles hung up and then glanced over. He gave Erik a half smile that was only partly apologetic. Logan must have been worried that they’d come to blows.

They decided on a game of chess. Charles won, of course, but Erik didn’t mind. His attention wasn’t on the game and Charles was a good player. When midnight came, they both remarked on the lateness of the hour and stretched. They went to the door together. They both paused.

It was a precarious moment. The lighting was romantically dim, there was no one about and Charles’s bedroom was only a relatively few feet away. Caution and epiphanies be damned, anything could happen. Calling on every particle of common sense he had left, Erik said something about wanting to make sure the house was secure. Charles just nodded.

Erik was about to turn away when resolve faltered under swift impulse. Before he could think to stop himself, he touched Charles’s cheek, just a quick stroke of his fingertips along the edge of Charles’s soft beard. And then he was gone, striding away down the hall in an effort to outpace his own desire.

He went through the house, making sure the doors and windows were locked, the heat of Charles’s skin still warming his own.

***

The next morning, Erik went downstairs and was surprised to find Charles in the kitchen eating breakfast and reading the newspaper as if he did so every morning. He gave Erik a quiet, “Good morning,” and nodded to the stove and a covered skillet.

Erik fixed a plate of eggs and bacon and then took a seat near Charles. He stole the _International_ section, enjoying Charles’s, “Hey!” more than he should. They ate and read in a companionable silence, Erik feeling that his every move was an answer to Charles’s verbal request and unstated challenge.

***

As summer turned to fall, Erik fell into a new kind of limbo. Reluctantly crossing another invisible line, he began helping in the classrooms. It wasn’t much, just filling in for Charles and assisting Hank in designing experiments for the kids.

He also began to make cautious forays into the city, purportedly to check on the new company but really to see how Ken Garcia was getting on. During his first visit with a prepared excuse of, _‘What a small city,’_ he re-introduced himself. Ken was properly surprised and Erik ended up spending the afternoon with him.

In August, Hank had a breakthrough on the ‘Jean Room.’ They began to test it, using Charles as a guinea pig. Hank stood in the hallway and _thought_ and Charles tried to hear him. Erik never volunteered to be on the other side of the wall and Charles never asked. Erik wasn’t sure if the latter was because Charles thought Hank should be in charge or because he was afraid to hear any of Erik’s thoughts. It ended up not mattering—after the first few tries and a few adjustments, the barrier worked.

Things, however, were better between the two of them. There were fewer awkward silences and hesitations, and when he came upon Charles unexpectedly, Charles would simply say, _‘There you are,’_ or something like. When Charles had to make a decision about the school or incoming personnel, he now including Erik in the meetings, asking his opinion as often as he did Logan’s or Hank’s.

As for anything more intimate, Charles never indicated that he was interested and neither did Erik. He somehow couldn’t. It was as if they were on opposite sides of a no-man’s land, watching the other for even the smallest sign of surrender.

There was an offshoot to this new accord, one that tormented Erik as much as it pleased him: he felt Charles’s presence like never before. Even when they were on opposite sides of the vast mansion, separated by meters of air and stone, it was as if Charles was right beside him. When they were in the same room but not anywhere close to each other, he swore could feel the solid warmth of Charles’s body. It was an intrinsically false sense of intimacy, one that nonetheless helped him through the hard hours when he wanted Charles so badly he thought he’d die from it.

And so he lived on, neither here nor there, and when the next change came, it took him by complete surprise.

***

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” Charles said, not missing a beat as he examined a jumper and then folded it and placed it in his overnight bag.

Erik took a much-needed breath. It had been one of his bad days when Charles’s very presence set off a chain reaction of lust that he couldn’t ignore. As an antidote, he’d gone for a jog around the grounds. He’d still be out there except Hank had tracked him down to tell him the news. “You want me to attend a meeting with you and the NSA, one of the most corrupt organizations on the planet, to help you beg for funding? The same NSA that would love to lock me up for good?”

Charles squinted up at him. “Is that what Hank told you?” He shook his head and returned to his packing. “No, that is not what I want.”

“What is it, then?”

Charles reached for another jumper, this one a sky blue cashmere V-neck. He held it up. “I would like your company when Moira and I meet with Deputy Director Hamilton in D.C. We’ve been angling for this meeting for months and he only just agreed.”

As if that changed anything. “You expect me to walk right into the proverbial lion’s den?”

“I’ll ensure that you come to no harm. They’ll not know you’re a mutant; they’ll simply think you’re another teacher.”

“What’s the meeting to be about?”

“Policy. I want them to ratify my proposal as to what happens when they discover a new mutant.”

“I thought the NSA and the CIA didn’t work together?”

“They don’t, generally. Think of them as wary cousins who, on occasion, are forced to sit at the same table.” Charles tossed the V-neck back in the drawer.

“I liked that one,” Erik muttered.

Charles glanced over his shoulder. “Hm?”

“The jumper.” Erik nodded towards the dresser. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

Startled, Charles slowly retrieved the jumper, folded it and put it in the bag. He cleared his throat. “In any case, in the past, Logan or Hank would accompany me, but Hank is busy and Logan, as you know, is gone.” Charles closed the drawer and opened another.

Erik frowned. He couldn’t say he was sad that Logan had left but Charles was. Two weeks prior, Logan and Charles had sequestered themselves in the main study for most of the afternoon. When they came out, Logan gathered the kids together and announced that he was leaving shortly. The children had responded with shocked exclamations and more than a few tears. Charles had watched impassively but his calm hadn’t fooled Erik. He knew that look, knew that Charles was grieving silently—he still was and that made Erik equally unhappy. Restlessly, he picked up a photo of Raven with a wave of his hand.

“Erik.”

“Why now?”

Charles was gazing at him, a pair of dark blue silk pajamas in his hand. “It’s time. I want to establish you as a member of this school. I want you to challenge yourself.” Charles shrugged, adding almost sadly, “You can’t hide here forever.”

He lowered the frame back down a little too carelessly and it hit the dresser top with a sharp sound. “I’m not hiding.”

“Hm, mm.”

“I’m not.” He scooped up a pair of gold cufflinks with quick grasping motion and then went to the bed. It was lower than expected and he sat with a thump. “You say you want to make me part of this school, but I can’t do that if they arrest me.”

“I _told_ you, they won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

He made the cufflinks float and turn. “Says you.” He sounded like a five year old and when Charles laughed softly, he did, too. Commanding the cufflinks back to the dresser, he got up. “Very well, but if they take me into custody, it’s your fault.”

“So noted.”

“Are we flying?”

“Yes, but not the jet. Hank took the engine apart and hasn’t quite got it back together.”

He sighed. “Charles.”

“How many times do I have to say it’s going to be fine?”

“At least once more should do the trick,” Erik muttered. Flying with hundreds of other people and landing in an airport filled with more of the same—Charles’s powers truly must have grown to be able to handle that kind of crowd. “Do I have to bring anything other than a suit? You look as if you’re packing for the duration.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I like to be prepared.”

“For Moira?”

Charles smiled, not nicely. “You deserve a yes, for that.”

Erik answered with his own smirk that quickly faded as soon as he left the room. So, he was going to be with Charles and Moira on Moira’s turf. If Charles hadn’t been right about the hiding issue, he’d just stay home, and he muttered under his breath, “I deserve a hell of a lot more for that.”

The problem was, would he ever get it?

***

He packed methodically, choosing only a few items. He was just finishing up when he realized that for the first time he’d thought of the mansion as ‘home.’ Troubled, he paused, then shrugged his shoulders. With a flick of his fingers, he secured the suitcase and waved it out the room.

***

One would think a meeting between the CIA, the NSA, and the representative of a new race of beings would be held in something better than a glorified storage room. One would think the meeting would be full of code words and secret agendas. It was anything but.

After being ushered into the tiny office and introductions were made, Deputy Director Hamilton and his staff ignored Erik, treating him as if were Charles’s secretary.

It was a good thing and a good lesson, Erik reminded himself for the second time as he got up to get Charles another glass of water. Apparently his ego was so fragile that he’d rather have them attack him rather than ignore him. So ridiculous, and he gave Charles the plastic cup, making sure their fingers touched, hoping Moira was watching.

“And how will these proposed guidelines be disseminated, Professor?” Hamilton asked, pushing the thin paper binder Charles had given him to the side as if it had offended him in some manner.

Charles smiled blandly. “My group will coordinate with each agency on a state-by-state basis.”

Hamilton smirked. “It’s impossible. The United States is too big. You couldn’t police such complicated regulations.”

Moira shifted in her seat and Charles’s lips tightened. He glanced at Erik.

Erik just shrugged minutely.

The ‘complicated regulations,’ as Hamilton called them, were three very short suggestions as to why and when and how. Hamilton behaved as if they were the Magna fucking Charta. It didn’t help Charles’s case that Hamilton and his men were military, from the crown of their flattops down to their very shiny shoes. They probably thought that Charles, with his money, and long hair and beard, was the epitome of a profligate hippy. Erik wanted to pick up the binder by its metal tabs and slap Hamilton with it. He wished Charles had gone the easy route by just _making_ Hamilton and his staff agree.

“I realize that it presents a few problems,” Charles said with another quick glance Erik’s way as if he’d heard Erik’s thoughts. “It’s not a perfect solution by any means. I’d prefer something much more specific with agreed-upon protocols if mutant rights are violated, but that’s not going to happen, is it?”

Hamilton’s mean face grew meaner. “No. Considering most Americans don’t consider these…” He looked down at the binder as if he truly couldn’t remember the word. “These _mutants_ , to be deserving of rights.”

“The accords I’ve been building with Congress says they do and that they will,” Charles said, very firmly.

“I could give a good goddamn what Congress says,” Hamilton responded, just as firmly.

“Gentlemen,” Moira said, leaning forward. “This isn’t getting us—”

“What would you prefer, Hamilton?” Erik interrupted, speaking for the first time since the meeting had started. He stared down at the cover of the cheap binder. He’d helped Charles put them together only that morning. He had wanted to ask Charles the same thing, _‘What’s the point? They’ll never listen.’_ but hadn’t had the heart. Charles wanted this so very badly…

Erik looked up. “On the wall outside is a photo of you. Underneath it is a listing of your many accomplishments. You’ve had a remarkable career but it started with the 90th Infantry Division in 1944.”

Hamilton’s face grew darker. Charles reached out and touched Erik’s arm. He ignored them both.

“Though I wasn’t born in the States,” Erik continued conversationally, “I know your history as well as my own. I know that the 90th liberated the Konzentrationslager Flossenbürg in ’45.” Unable to help himself, he let his accent slip to the comforting tones of his youth. “You must have been around eighteen or nineteen at the time. I’ve read that many of the soldiers who liberated the concentration camps never forgot the experience.” Erik had taken off his jacket an hour ago; methodically, he unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and began to roll the cuff up. “I’ve read that to this day that experience keeps those men up at nights, giving them nightmares they can’t ignore.” He turned his arm towards Hamilton, exposing the tattoo.

Moira gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Charles made a low sound, like a moan or soft hiss. But Hamilton, he just gaped, his face gone white and no longer mean.

“After what you saw, tell me you’re okay with camps and lists and genocide,” Erik said quietly, evenly. “Tell me that hatred on this scale belongs anywhere but in the past.”

As he waited, the moment grew heavy and still. He took a chance and glanced sideways—Charles was watching with wet, shining eyes.

Another long heartbeat and Hamilton cleared his throat. “You’re right, Mr. Burkhardt, and I’m ashamed to say I actually forgot it.” He looked around and then stood up. “It’s almost noon,” he growled as he turned to the door. “We’ll take a thirty-minute recess and reconvene in my office.”

Clearly startled, Hamilton’s team followed him out. With a glance from Erik to Charles, Moira murmured, “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

“Well,” Charles said when they were alone.

“Well,” Erik agreed, calmly rolling his shirtsleeve down.

Charles rubbed his eyes. “That was very effective.”

“I just wanted to get out of this damned room, Charles.” He buttoned his cuff and got to his feet, only to be stopped by Charles’s firm grip.

“Erik…”

It was so hot and he had to get away—from the heat, from Charles and his sad gaze. He jerked free and then slung his coat over his shoulder. “I’m for a stroll. I’ll be back in a while.”

Charles opened his mouth, but then nodded, saying softly, “Stay out of the public eye, if possible.”

“You should of thought of that before you dragged me down here.” He started to leave and then with a sigh, stopped. He turned and gave Charles a crooked smile. “Feel like coming with me?”

Charles’s smile bloomed. “Of course. I’m told the commissary is quite good.”

“As long as it’s not here, I don’t care where we go.”

***

The rest of the meeting went better than expected. When they returned from a circumspect walk, Hamilton greeted them with a less frigid smile and a carafe of coffee and a tray of donuts. He said nothing more about the incident, but something had changed and when Charles began again, he actually listened.

The meeting lasted another hour and then they were shown the door with concessions and vague promises in hand.

By necessity, they had to exit the same way they came. Charles handled it all, of course. With an indiscernible wave of his fingers, he blocked the lift’s passengers from recognizing Erik as well as the guards at the door.

They said goodbye to Moira in the lobby and then were escorted to their rental car. It wasn’t until they were in the car and some distance from the sprawling compound that Erik drew a deep breath.

“That will be the worst of it,” Charles said beside him. “The rest will be the proverbial walk in the park.”

“I’ll believe that when we pass through that last gate.”

“Don’t tell me that frightened you? The man who trapped the White House in a ring of concrete and metal, and then threatened the president?”

“I can turn this car around, Charles,” he warned with mock anger, unable to stop from picturing what he’d really like to do.

“Please don’t. They’re very proud of their new building.”

Reluctantly, Erik smiled.

“I wish we’d thought to drive down instead of fly,” Charles added absently. “It’s so pretty.”

Erik looked around. It _was_ pretty, even though the trees had lost much of their summer color. There were only a few cars on the parkway and it gave a sense of solitude, as if they were the only two men in the world. It had been like this on that first road trip, just the two of them in that tiny car, just the two of them sharing motel rooms and indifferent American meals. What would Charles say if he suggested they stop for the night in a motel or better yet, a hotel? Charles had packed all those clothes—why should that cashmere V-neck go to waste?

“It’s a shame, really,” Charles murmured.

“What is?”

“Logan not being here. He would have enjoyed Hamilton’s capitulation.”

“He would have enjoyed slicing him open with those claws of his.”

“No,” Charles said with a little smile. “He talks a rough game but he doesn’t enjoy violence as much as everyone assumes.”

That cut, and Erik couldn’t help a bitter, “Unlike me?”

Charles turned and slowly shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. Beside, you have assets that Logan could never hope for.”

“Such as?”

“First impressions matter, unfortunately. When people look at Logan, they see danger. When people look at you, they see sophistication and intelligence.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“No.”

“Hmph.”

His bad-tempered response made Charles smile. “Hank told me what Logan said to you.”

Erik flicked the signal and passed a slow-moving lorry. “What do you mean?”

Charles turned again, pushing the center seat belt out of the way. “You know—that last day at the mansion when he threatened you and you threatened him.”

He glanced in the mirror, pretending to concentrate on the road. If it hadn’t been so unexpected, it would have been funny, the day Logan cornered him in one of the storage rooms on the first floor and told Erik that if he ever hurt Charles, he’d be back so fast it would make his head spin. Calmly, Erik had gathered up an armful of paper towel rolls and answered that if Logan ever tried, he’d find out how it felt to skewered by every piece of metal in the mansion. And then he added that if anyone was going hurt Charles, it certainly wasn’t going to be him.

He’d left the room and ran into Hank skulking in the corridor. He’d smiled benignly, hiding a very acidic frown. Everyone had seemed to think that he was out to destroy Charles. Everyone had been so very wrong. “Hank is quite the eavesdropper,” he said calmly. “It’s a wonder he has any time for work.”

“Hank loves me,” Charles said. “He’ll protect me at the cost of his own life. When everyone left, he…” Charles broke off and then shrugged, as if it said it all.

Erik glanced over, a dim memory prompting a question, “Charles?”

“Yes?”

“A few months ago…” He gestured vaguely. “Logan told me—” He hesitated. Perhaps this wasn’t the time for this conversation. Charles was in such a good mood.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Erik, please.”

“No,” he said, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“You do know I could make you, yes?”

He smiled, the threat actually mitigating his worry. “You never would, but very well, I’ll tell you.” He glanced in both side mirrors and then adjusted the overhead, stalling for time.

“Just say it, Erik.”

“All right,” he said. “Back when I first got here, Logan intimated that you were addicted to Hank’s drug. Only, he made it seem because you needed to control your power, not because it cured your paralysis. Was that true?”

“Yes.”

Charles’s ready answer took Erik by surprise and he raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you couldn’t tell me, that day in the plane?”

“Would you have listened? I mean, really listened?”

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel and then shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose I would have. I wish I had, though.” He glanced over in time to see the brief spasm of pain that crossed Charles’s face. He reached out and touched the back of Charles’s hand. “I wish I had.”

For once, Charles didn’t draw away. “It’s all right, Erik. I think it was something I was meant to experience. It taught me several things about myself.”

“Such as?”

“That I can feel pain. That I can be unmade.”

Charles and his silver spoon—it had always been something that Erik had been envious of and bitter towards. “Welcome to the real world, Charles.”

“Ha, ha,” Charles said softly, and then added even lower, “I hated everything I was back then. But I don’t now.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly.”

He thought about that for a moment, then said, “I don’t like it.”

“What”

“That you were so alone.”

Charles could have answered that in so many ways, such as, ‘ _You could have come home at any time_ ,’ or, _‘It was because of you that I_ was _so alone,’_ but he didn’t. He just took Erik’s hand and interlaced their fingers. “It’s all right now.”

Erik swallowed. It was an awkward angle and he was supposed to be holding the steering wheel with both hands at ten and two, but he didn’t pull away and neither did Charles.

***

They drove to the airport that way, hands clasped. When he had to make a tricky turn or use his signal, Erik would gently pull free. But always, when the need for two hands and concentration was past, he’d reach without looking and Charles would take his hand. It was sweet and innocent but not innocent, all the same.

When they stopped in front of the car rental building, they shared a long glance and then slowly let the other go.

***

As if to throw a wrench in what had turned out to be a perfect day, when they got to the airport, they found their plane had been delayed due to a storm in the west. They were told the delay would be a few minutes but it turned into hours and they ended up spending the afternoon at the airport.

It wasn’t too bad. He read a little as did Charles, and when they both got restless, they wandered around the terminal. At a newsstand, he bought a book of crosswords for Charles, a package of gum and—feeling a little foolish—a stuffed toy for Suzy. It was a pink kitten with sparkling green eyes and gray stripes on its back. He waited for Charles to call him on his sentimentality, but he just smiled and brushed his shoulder against Erik’s sleeve.

They wandered back to their gate. He read some more while Charles did a crossword. Sometime around four, Charles fell asleep, head against Erik’s arm. Ignoring the stares of the woman across the way, Erik returned to his book, almost afraid to move lest he wake Charles up.

***

“Pushing won’t get you there any faster.”

“Hmm?” Charles said, not turning from the window.

“The floor. Pushing your legs won’t make the car go faster. We’ll be home in twenty minutes.”

Charles followed Erik’s gaze. He was holding his own knees, pushing his legs against the foot well. Instead of answering joke for joke, Charles just frowned and shook his head. “It’s not that. I can’t hear them.”

Erik frowned, too, glancing out the window. It was evening and the fallen sun limned the trees and bushes with a bright gold. “What? What can’t you hear?” There was nothing _to_ hear, just a couple birds flying above the trees and a few cows in a nearby farm.

“The children,” Charles said. “I can’t hear them.”

“Maybe they’re at a movie.”

“It’s a school night. Hank would nev—” Charles gasped and bent over, his fingers to his temple. “ _Oh–”_

Erik braked and jerked the Cadillac to the side of the road. He leaned over and grasped Charles’s shoulder. “What is it? What do you see?”

Charles winced as if in pain. He glanced up at Erik. “I can’t reach them. They’re not there but someone else is.” He closed his eyes. “Men. Many men, dressed in black and carrying guns. They’re creeping up the front—”

“Stop them.”

“I can’t, I—” Charles straightened up, his eyes wide with fear and anger. “Something’s blocking me.”

It was enough. Erik took off, careening down the narrow roadway, pushing the needle past fifty. When he got to the crook that led east, he kept going, crashing through the hedgerow.

With a muffled shout, Charles grabbed the dashboard. “Where are you going?”

“To the side entrance,” he shouted over the sound of the straining engine. This road hadn’t been used in years and wasn’t truly a road anymore, just a path covered with bushes and weeds.

“Yes, but—”

Whatever Charles was about to say was lost as they hit a hillock and then another. The car crashed into a depression, the front end hopelessly jammed.

“ _Shit,”_ Erik muttered, putting the car in reverse with no luck. He turned the keys and killed the engine. His heart was racing, his mind filled with dark things. He had to get to the mansion but there was— “Charles?” He turned and rested his arm on the seat. “Do you trust me?”

There was a beat, like the heavy throb of the blood in his veins and then Charles took a shallow breath and whispered, “Yes.”

Erik grinned, just briefly, and tossed the keys to Charles. “Good.” He leaned over and got the torch out of the glove compartment. “Wait here. If anyone comes for you, protect yourself.” He was getting out of the car when Charles grabbed his arm.

“I want to go,” Charles urged. “You can carry me in my—”

“No,” he said. “No.” He couldn’t do what he needed to do if Charles was nearby. There was the awful chance that he’d ignore even the children if Charles was in danger.

Charles bit his lip and then nodded shortly. “Very well, go.”

Erik got out and pocketed the torch, then took to the sky. He flew just above the trees, guided by instinct and what he could see of the mansion. The sun was completely down now and the rising moon wasn’t high enough to light his way. His eyes had adjusted but still, the tree canopy was just a dark grey blur against a black canvas. When he got within sight of the house, he lowered and floated beside a tall oak, using it for cover.

At this height of maybe nine meters and a distance of sixteen or seventeen, he could see nothing amiss. The lights on the first floor were on and the upper rooms were dark—both common occurrences because the kids never went upstairs at night until they had to. Maybe Charles had been wrong. Maybe they _were_ at a film or—

Movement to the east drew his eye and yes, Charles had been right, at least about this because coming up the drive was a group of men.

Crouched low, they were dressed in black and carrying weapons of some sort. Erik counted eleven but there were probably more—only fools would attack by the main entrance alone and by the smooth way they moved, they were no fools. Their presence, however, did mean that things weren’t as bad as he had thought and he breathed a sigh of relief. If the men were still making their assault, the children hadn’t been harmed.

He was debating the pros and cons of an outward attack when movement once again drew his eye.

Sometimes it wasn’t good to be right because there _was_ another contingent, this one coming from the trees to the west, moving in a V formation. A much larger group of sixteen, they were also dressed in black and carrying weapons. As soon as they made it to the open lawn, the leader gestured and they stopped. Five men scurried forward and knelt in a circle.

Something about the men looked off. It was only when each of them twisted and shrugged that Erik realized they were wearing small rucksacks. They removed the sacks and emptied the contents onto the ground. The leader spoke into a two-way radio and within seconds, the group in the front fanned out until they were crouched among the gardens and statuary in a ragged half oval.

On the other side of the mansion, the five men were busy putting something together. If Erik hadn’t been convinced they were professionals, he was now, because it was eerie, how efficiently and silently they worked.

Taking a chance, he advanced, moving from tree to tree until he got to the big beech near the south gardens. The tree’s wide branches was an excellent blind and he stayed there, watching as the men got up and began to work on the top of the structure.

The light was still faint but Erik was closer and could make out a few details. About the height of a man, the contraption was black and shaped like a miniature Eiffel Tower. Erik raised a hand and called—the structure didn’t budge which meant the entire thing was made out of plastic.

Curious but unable to waste anymore time, Erik began his descent, intending to go the long way around in the hopes the far side wasn’t being watched. He was brushing his fingers against the beech’s stiff leaves when his attention was caught for the third time, this time from the direction of the house.

He waited and there it was again, a quick flash of light coming from a room on the third floor. He couldn’t see the sender, but he knew the room—he had, after all, spent much of the last month working in it. He squinted up at the wide window, barely able to make out vague human shapes. One of the shapes raised a hand and waved frantically.

The pieces falling together, he knew what had happened—after discovering the assault, Hank had rounded up the children and hid in the Jean Room, no doubt in an effort to avoid a lapse from Jean. It was a good idea, having the unfortunate consequence of trapping them all. Hank in his Beast form could manage a way down but the children would have to resort to bed sheets or ropes. If any of them fell…

Erik’s stomach twisted at the thought and he made a gesture, a sharp flat of his palm, hoping they understood that they were to stay where they were.

Not waiting to see if he was understood, he lowered to the ground. He went not towards the mansion but back north to the old access portal. It was one of many, put in by Charles’s father when he’d built the underground rooms. Apparently, Charles’s stepfather had been a bit of a paranoid nut because he’d added onto the system, building a series of tunnels that led from the bomb shelter, no doubt to escape the apocalypse that had never come. Threading between the decorative foliage, Erik apologized silently—if it weren’t for Marko’s paranoia, there would be no tunnel and no way to sneak into the mansion.

He found the portal easily enough and heaved the lid up with a wave of his hand. Saying a soft, mindless prayer that Charles was safe, he got out his torch and descended into the black.

***

Erik made it through the tunnel and bomb shelter without incident. Using the back stairs that led to the kitchen, he pocketed the torch and carefully pushed the door open. He paused, hardly daring to breath. As far as he could tell, there was no one about. Hurrying once more, he flew out the kitchen and down the hall to the main stairs. Hesitating once more, he rose to the landing and peered out the stained glass windows.

All the men were now gathered around the miniature tower, but only one was still working. As Erik watched, the man lifted something out of a case and placed it on top of the tower. It was a sphere, milky white, reflecting the moonlight. The man stepped back to join the others and Erik could almost _feel_ their anticipation—it was like they were acolytes standing before their god.

Something in their poses set off a chain reaction of thought and it suddenly struck Erik as odd: why bring so many if they weren’t going to storm the mansion?

A chill cooled the back of his neck and he had to force himself to step back from the window. As much as he’d wanted to see what the device did, he had to go. On foot, he ran to the third floor and turned right.

When Erik opened the door to the Jean Room, there was a hush and then not as the children cried out and rushed him. Suzy threw herself at him, Jordan wrapped his arms around his legs, and the rest made do with whatever they could reach. Only Hank didn’t move.

“You’re all right,” Erik murmured, only half-heartedly trying to extricate himself. “You’re all right.”

“Sorry,” Hank whispered, coming closer. His features were distorted—he was halfway through his transformation to Beast. “Most of them were upstairs getting washed up for dinner when Jean heard whoever’s out there. We didn’t have time to…” He shrugged as if that said it all.

“I wanted to lift the kids down,” Jean added, “but I was worried the room would block me.”

Erik reached over and around the children to clasp Jean’s shoulder. “It was just as well—they would have seen you.” He smiled at Hank and Jean. “You both did good. You did what you needed to do. Charles will be proud of you.” He let go and looked around. “Where’s Alex?”

“At his parent’s,” Hank said. “They’re having problems with Scott again.”

“Let’s hope he stays there.” The children were detaching one by one, all except for Suzy. He settled her on his hip and gazed at them. “Okay,” he said, mustering all the calm he could manage. “We need to get to the bomb shelter and then to the tunnels. The professor is waiting for us near the old road.”

They began asking questions, but he held up his hand. “No more. I need you to be completely quiet. We’ll use the back stairway.” Their faces fell and he couldn’t blame them. The back stairway was a narrow passage, lit only by bare bulbs and decorated with more than a few cobwebs—even he hated using it. “Come on,” he added with an encouraging smile. “It will be like that movie, _The Sound of Music_. We’re the brave Austrians and they’re the mean Nazis.”

Hank rolled his eyes but the children smiled.

Erik squeezed Suzy leg and mussed Jordan’s hair. “Let’s go.”

En masse, they trouped out, hurrying down the hall to the other wing. The stairway was as he remembered, made even more difficult because Suzy was still wrapped around him like an octopus. Furious that the intruders had terrified her so completely, worried that Charles was out there on his own, Erik had to keep reminding himself that he had no time for fury or worry. He needed to get the children to Charles in one piece and then…

…and then.

***

His hasty plan almost worked. They had made it to the first floor and were running by the kitchen when Jean stumbled, her hand to her temple. She collapsed against the wall with a soft, “Oh.”

“What is it?” Erik whispered.

“It hurts,” she moaned. “It—” She gasped and her eyes rolled back. She fell.

Hank and Dani dove at the same time, catching Jean before she hit the ground. They lowered her until she was slumped against the wall. Hank looked up, his lips pressed tight.

“Charles,” Erik and Hank said at the same time.

He should never have left Charles out there by himself. He’d thought the amount of men had been overkill and given that they were clearly trained, they had to know that the children posed no real threat. But Charles? Charles could take them all out in seconds. “Raven had been the prize last time,” he muttered absently.

Hank nodded. “What are we going to do?”

There was only one choice. He had seven options within arm’s reach, but the children were unschooled and could quite possibly hurt themselves and each other. Never mind Charles’s restrictions, Erik could no longer pretend they meant nothing to him. If they were harmed in any way, he wasn’t quite sure what he would do.

He tugged on Suzy’s hand. “Suzy?” he murmured. “You have to let go, sweetheart.”

She made a sound and wrapped her arms tighter about his neck.

He knelt as he gave her a gentle hug. “It will be all right, I promise. I need to go take care of something and then I’ll be back.”

Suzy loosened her grip. “You promise?”

He leaned back and then kissed her forehead. “I do.” This time, when he tugged on her leg, she uncurled and he was able to set her down. Tessa immediately took Suzy’s hand. Smiling around the lump in his throat, Erik touched Tessa’s arm, thanking her silently. He stood up.

“Are you going to get Charles?” Hank said.

Erik shook his head. “Not just yet.” He raised his arms and backed up, calling out silently. “Just get all of them down to the bomb shelter as quick as possible. If you can’t make it, find a place to hide. Keep them away from the windows.” Without waiting for an answer, he levitated, then turned and flew down the hall. He called again and this time he could feel the sweet response as the wrought iron fence detached from its moorings and came to him, separating into hundreds of long, flexible strands.

In his element now that the children were safe, fear and anxiety faded as he rose up the stairway to the second floor landing. He opened the window and passed through to hover above the terrace. With a faint hush, his metal army joined him, trembling as it awaited his orders.

The men on the ground were oblivious—they were preparing their weapons as if they had all the time in the world. The device was now glowing, casting an eerie blue light that lit up the area, making it as bright as day.

Wanting to thank them for making it so easy, Erik loosed the singing metal. His first phalanx took out the machine, spearing it through its crystal heart with a swift thrust. Next were the men. With a flick of his fingers, the metal ropes imprisoned each by simply wrapping around their legs, torsos, even their mouths and eyes, effectively gagging and blinding them. As added security, he drove the loose ends deep into the earth.

He called the leftover iron to him and together they flew up and over the mansion. The group in the front was still waiting among the bushes but their numbers were less. There had been eleven and now there were three. Worried but unable to do anything about it, Erik waved his hand. The men were immobilized within seconds.

Done, he took off with the last of his iron, this time flying over the trees towards the old road. He was only a few meters along when he realized he had a problem. Even with the rising moon, he still couldn’t see the ground—like before, the trees were simply too dense. To make matters worse, he couldn’t remember from what angle he’d come. Was it closer to the south or farther north?

Frustrated, time suddenly pressing like a heavy hand on the back of his neck, Erik lowered through the canopy until his feet touched the earth. He looked about for any of the intruders and found nothing but silence. Hoping he was going in the right direction, he began to walk.

Later, he was to remember the next minutes as the worst of the evening. Not daring to signal his presence with the torch, he made his way through the unruly groundcover. Charles had made no effort in taming this part of the forest and the trees and bushes grew close, tangling in his clothing and the trailing iron as if on purpose.

He was cursing under his breath, trying to free his jacket from a clinging nettle when he heard a noise that grew louder and louder. Whipping around, he saw a creature hurtling towards him, leaping on all fours. He sighed. He should be mad that Hank had left the children but he wasn’t. When Hank reached him, blue hackles raised and gold eyes furious, Erik ordered grimly, “Find him.”

Hank sprang forward, not in the direction Erik had been heading but off to the left. Heart racing, Erik followed, pushing limbs and branches out of the way, struggling to keep Hank in sight. He lost him at one point only to find him again, paused by a fallen log, on all fours and panting. Erik hurried to his side and then stopped, his heart stopping as well.

Standing before a clearing, it seemed as if he were looking at something from a fairy tale or maybe a nightmare. The area was roughly five meters in diameter and covered with a short carpet of haphazard grass and weeds. Though still weak, the fugitive moon beamed down, lighting the clearing like a stage. In the center of that stage was Charles, his arms and head fallen over the sides of his chair. Surrounding him like black dominoes were the rest of the intruders.

A creak of wood made Erik jump and he realized he’d been frozen, bound in a world where he was too late and Charles was dead. He swallowed, then gestured. The waiting iron secured the unconscious men while he and Hank hurried to Charles’s side.

Hand hovering, he was almost afraid to touch. Charles’s wasn’t dead—his chest moved and his eyelids fluttered. But what if Erik made whatever they’d done worse? You weren’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker, yes? How stupid was it to have left in the first place. He should have done as Charles had asked and jus—

Charles gasped and then stirred.

Erik dropped to the ground. “Charles?”

“Hurts,” Charles groaned.

“So I’m told.” Erik gently stroked a long strand of hair off Charles’s face and then just as gently cradled his cheek. “Are you all right?”

Charles opened his eyes raised his head. He pressed his fingers to his temple. “Never mind me—how are the children? How are you? Are you hurt?” He peered at Erik and then leaned forward and touched Erik’s face. “You _are_ hurt. What did those bastards do to you?”

Puzzled, Erik felt his own temple and then looked at his fingers. The tips were smeared with dark fluid. He’d felt nothing at the time and there was only one thing it could have been. “It was just the trees,” he said. “I got too close.”

Charles sighed. “Good. And the children?”

Hank growled, “Jean was affected just like you, but the others are safe. They’re in the bomb shelter.”

“Good,” Charles said again, this time smiling faintly. “Good. We need to get to the house but the problem is—”

“What do we do next and what do we do with them?” Erik finished for him, nodding at the bodies. He curled his lip. “I have an idea about that.”

***

It took over an hour to set up the scene. While Charles put the rest of the intruders to sleep, Hank hurried back to make sure Jean and the children were okay. Erik had the pleasant duty of transporting the men to the front of the house. He dropped them on the drive, not caring that they hit with a thud and a dull clang of metal. When they were arranged together in a long row, he went back for Charles.

Telling Charles to hold tight, he raised the chair. Together they flew above the treetops, another odd moment because it was almost peaceful, the two of them flying side by side. He was almost disappointed when they got to the mansion a few minutes later.

Lowering Charles to the ground as if he were made of glass, Erik touched his shoulder and murmured, “I’ll be right back.” He had one more journey to make, this time to the garage to fetch whatever rope he could find. When he returned, rope, masking tape, and thick sisal twine in hand, he got to work while Charles kept watch, finger to temple.

Hank arrived as Erik was in the middle of tying the men up.

“How are they?” Charles called out softly.

Only half in human form, Hank grabbed the twine and started on the other end. “Scared, but okay,” he called out, his voice a rough whisper. “I told them to stay inside.”

“Hopefully, they’ll listen to you,” Charles answered.

They finished in silence. It was only when they were done that Erik realized he needed to find a way to port the bodies off the property. The evening was catching up and he was suddenly tired. He’d used his powers more in the last two hours than he had in the last fifteen months and the idea of lifting the unconscious men a good half-mile wasn’t his idea of a party. If he had a truck or tractor, he’d just drag them up to the road.

Hank, thankfully, took control by tapping Erik’s arm and saying, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He gave his glasses to Erik, then pounded his thigh. In a moment he was blue again, growling deep in his chest. With a great bound, he picked up four of the men and was gone.

Erik turned. Charles was sitting in his chair, contemplating the unconscious men. “There are a few things I need to take care of,” he said. “Are you all right?”

Charles nodded without looking up. “I’m fine. We have to contact the authorities.”

He raised a hand and felt for the metal in the intruder’s weapons. “Let’s keep it local, okay?”

“All right. For now.”

Erik touched Charles’s arm, then ordered the incoming weapons to settle in a neat pile next to the fountain. “And these?”

“We’ll keep them as evidence for the police.” Charles looked up. “Do we know how they got here? The men, I mean.”

Erik hadn’t even thought about that. “No,” he said slowly. “There are no vehicles on the road. At least, none that I can feel.”

“Maybe they used a helicopter?”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Charles said, scraping his hair back. “That’s a puzzle for another day.”

Erik nodded moodily and said, “I’ll be right back.” He pushed away from the earth and flew over the house. The device was in still in pieces on the lawn. Feeling a great reluctance to touch any of it, he gathered up the sections and carried them to the terrace. There was no good place to put them, so he just set them on a lounge chair.

Only two more things to do, one an easy task, the other not so much. With a sigh, he raised his hands and the erstwhile iron fence shivered and floated up off the ground. He sent it not towards the road but off to the side of the house. He needed to be within eyesight to put it back together properly; he’d just have to hope that no one noticed the lack of fence until then.

Done, he went inside to call the police.

***

“Are they coming?” Charles asked, wheeling the chair around as Erik came down the front steps.

“They said they’d be here in ten minutes.” Hank was picking up the last of the men.

“Which means thirty or forty,” Charles said. At Erik’s raised eyebrow, Charles added, “They’re a small force of three and it’s late. The chief is probably already in bed.”

“It’s not _that_ late.” Erik started to add something about the predictability of small town America when a clattering of shoes made him turn around. It was the children, hurrying from the house. They made a beeline for Charles, firing question after question. He hugged each one, asking if they were all right, examining them to make sure they were. He held Jean the longest, speaking to her too softly for Erik to hear.

After a few minutes, the children’s fright wore off and their natural curiosity returned. The girls kept inching towards the weapons and the boys began arguing as to the whys and hows of the attack. David said the men had to be thieves, but Jordan and Douglas insisted they were international spies like in _The Man From Uncle._ Only Jean was quiet, never straying far from Charles’s side.

After stopping Suzy from trying to pick up a machine gun for the third time, Erik called out, “All right—a word, please.”

In an instant, the children stopped arguing and sneaking. He waited until they were gathered in front of him, then said, “I’ve called the police and reported an attempted burglary. They’ll be here shortly. I need you all to behave. It’s very important that they not know what happened.”

“Why?” asked Jean as Hank came back, brushing off his paws.

“Because,” Charles said, wheeling to Erik’s side, “I’m going to wipe the intruder’s memories. They’ll remember that they came to this place, but not what happened after. We’ll let the authorities and our friends handle the rest.”

 _‘Our friends.’_ It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what that meant and Erik ground his teeth. The CIA and NSA were probably behind the night’s activities, a supposition that Charles would no doubt argue against. It was so frustrating, and he and Charles needed to have a little chat once things had quieted down. “In the meantime,” Erik said, “you all need to eat and I need to retrieve the Cadillac.” He turned to Hank, once again in his human guise. “Can you take care of dinner?”

“Sandwiches and soup will fine tonight,” Charles added.

“Sure,” Hank said, making a shooing gesture. “C’mon guys, let’s get inside.”

Erik watched them go, then turned to Charles. “I’d like to know what happened out there but I suppose we should wait.”

“We should.”

“I’ll take care of the car.”

“Thank you.”

If he was tired before, he was exhausted now, feeling weak and flat. He could think of nothing he wanted to do less than place nice for a bunch of small town cops. “I’ll see you inside.”

“Erik.”

He turned and, _Christ_ , there was that stare again, blank and considering. Removed.

Charles hadn’t looked at him like that in months and it was too much after all he’d been through. He cut Charles off with an abrupt, “Later,” and then pressed down, letting the earth’s magnetism carry him away.

***

Lifting and then carrying the car was more difficult than expected and Erik was sweating as he guided the heavy load back to the house. He hesitated, floating above the circle drive. A police cruiser was parked by the fountain. He’d hoped to beat them to the punch but there was nothing for it—he was tired and was losing his grip. He lowered the Cadillac to the drive. If the police saw the damage to the grill, he and Charles would have to find some way to explain it away.

He used the side entrance instead of the front. Wherever the children were, they were not in the kitchen and grateful for the quiet, Erik cleaned his hands and face in the sink. He dried off and then hurried to the study, slowing down as soon as he got within a few feet of the door. Affecting a casual, _‘I was just checking on the windows’_ attitude, he strolled across the threshold.

Charles was holding court behind the desk; two police officers were standing in front.

The first officer was tall to the point of gangly. The second was shorter and older and—if his rigid stance was anything to go by—unhappy to be out so late.

“Are you sure you don’t know what they were looking for?” The taller one said, glancing down at his notepad.

Charles shook his head, the picture of bewildered concern. “I realize the house seems luxurious, but we have little in the way of valuables. The Thompson’s place is a mile down the road. Maybe the burglars confused my place with theirs?”

Erik avoided looking at the small Monet that hung near the door and the minor Picasso that graced the south wall as he went to stand by Charles’s side. “Didn’t the Thompson’s have a break-in last month?”

Both officers had turned to look at Erik. They gave him equally suspicious glances, but again, it was the taller one that spoke, “They did. Who are you?”

“Henry Burkhardt.” Erik tossed the dishtowel over his shoulder and reached out. The officers had no choice but to shake his hand. Erik smiled at the older man; he received no smile in return.

“Henry was the one that saw them sneaking up to the house,” Charles said.

Erik shrugged in false modesty. “I’ve had a little bit of training in college. Not your sort, of course.” The tall cop smiled; the shorter one didn’t.

The tall officer glanced at Erik before asking, “Your students live here, right professor?”

Charles clasped his hands together and answered gravely, “They do. We were very lucky that none of them were outside at the time. I shudder to think what might have happened.” He augmented his comment with a frown and a shake of his head.

The officer looked down at his notepad once more. Erik could see that he’d written a few short sentences punctuated with several question marks. He could also see that the man was searching for the flaw in Charles’s story.

“Gentlemen, I need to check on the children,” Charles said, breaking the silence. “Will we be long?”

Charles had spoken with his most puppy-dog expression and even Erik felt a twinge of reflective concern. How cruel was it that they were all keeping Charles occupied so long when he was clearly the victim of tonight’s assault? Erik wanted to laugh but of course couldn’t.

It also didn’t stop the other cop, the short one—he finally spoke and there was no trace of pity or understanding in his tone. “So what you’re saying, Professor, is that twenty-seven men dressed like commandos raided your house but you have no idea how they got here or why they did it?”

In an instant the mood turned tense; Erik could almost see Charles touch his temple.

“That’s correct,” Charles said softly. “We have no idea who they are. I agree it’s suspicious but I’m afraid I’m at a loss here.”

Whatever subtle pressure Charles had applied worked—the men visibly relaxed. They even looked guilty.

“We understand, sir,” the short one said. “It’s a crazy world out there. I bet they thought they were raiding a commune or something like that.”

Charles’s mouth twitched, but he just said, “That is more than likely.”

The tall one shook his head. “The world is going to hell, if you ask me.” He tucked his notepad away. “We’ll take care of the burglars for you.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Charles said, then turned to Erik. “Henry? Will you see the officers to the door? I’m going to look in on the children and then I’m for bed—I’m exhausted.”

Erik nodded and the cops did, too. Charles wasn’t playing, now—all of a sudden he looked as tired as Erik felt. “Gentlemen? This way, please.”

***

Ten minutes later Erik was back in the study. Hank had joined Charles and together they were examining something on the desk.

“Are they gone?” Charles asked without looking up.

Erik nodded. “They are.” The _something_ were pieces of the device. Thick shards of glass and two plastic panels lay on a metal tray. “I waited until they drove off, then went up to the gate to make sure they took the bodies.”

“The ‘ _men_ ,’” Charles corrected. “Not ‘bodies.’”

Erik shrugged. “Wishful thinking.”

Charles actually smiled though he didn’t look up. “I called Moira. She’s going to have a chat with our very suspicious police friends.”

Hank picked up a panel and rubbed his thumb along the flat surface. “How did they get rid of the men? They couldn’t fit in that car.”

“They had to use a truck,” Erik replied. “What is that?”

“Before we get to all this,” Charles said, finally looking up, “what happened out there?”

Erik sat on the edge of the desk. The dishtowel, he realized, was still hanging over his shoulder and he drew it off and folded it. Quickly, with spare, clipped words, he related the bare essentials. He left out some parts: the cold rage that anyone had dared attack Charles, his fear for the children, and worst of all, how it had felt, seeing Charles in the forest and thinking him dead.

After he’d wound down, Charles tipped his head. He clearly knew that Erik had edited much of his tale, but all he said was, “And the tower was made up of these plastic pieces?” He picked one up.

“Be careful,” Erik warned.

“I’m sure it’s harmless,” Charles said. “Hank?”

Shaking his head, Hank said, “I have no idea what they are. It’s modular, though, meant to fit together—can you feel the raised edges?”

Erik leaned over as Charles turned the panel to examine both sides. The edges were segmented, like a row of tiny teeth and lined with raised dots. On the thin, blunt end was a strand of something that glinted in the lamplight. “Is that wire?” Erik said, touching the edge.

“You tell us,” Charles said.

Erik tested the wire, not really surprised when he felt nothing. “It’s not responding. What kind of metal is this and could a current run through it? Is that how the device was powered?”

“Unknown, but probably,” Hank said, then pointed to a raised lump in the corner of the panel. Erik hadn’t even noticed it. “Do you guys know what an integrated circuit is?”

“It has something to do with computers?” Charles asked more than stated. “Kenneth was saying we should invest in the micro version.”

Hank straightened up and nodded, his eyes brightening. “Exactly. They’re the future of—” He gestured expansively. “Well, everything. I’ve used some of the technology in your chair and Cerebro but I’m limited by—”

“Hank?” Erik interrupted before Hank could really get going.

“Yeah?”

He nodded to the panel. “The device?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” The gleam died as Hank came down from geek heaven. “Anyway, I think these panels are basically integrated circuits. I’m assuming the dots are kind of a guide, like Braille.”

“You didn’t put the thing back together, did you?” Erik asked sharply.

“Of course not,” Hank said with a frown. “I’ve got it laying in pieces in my lab.”

Charles set the panel back down. “For safety’s sake, let’s separate the main components until we can figure out what it does. What about this?” Charles reached out to touch a piece of glass, but Hank grabbed his wrist.

“Better not,” Hank said. “The glass is covered with some sort of film—until we know what it is, you shouldn’t touch it.” Hank smiled apologetically and let go.

“I touched the glass when I picked it up,” Erik said.

Hank shrugged. “Yeah, but it didn’t effect you. I mean, when it was working.”

Erik nodded and then said through tight lips, “So they _were_ coming for Charles?”

“Never mind me,” Charles said darkly, “what about you? Do they know who you are or was it just chance that they used materials you couldn’t control?”

They were all quiet for a moment and then Hank said, “That’s unknown, too. Hopefully, my tests will give us more answers.”

“What about the men?” Erik asked.

Charles sighed and sat back in his chair. “I was just getting to that.”

Erik knew that look. “You recognized one of them.”

Charles smiled up at him, an oddly sweet smile. “I did, indeed, eventually. The man that led the assault from the east was my step-brother, Cain Marko.”

It was a gasp-worthy moment and Erik shared a quick glance with Hank.

“I thought he was in the army,” Hank said.

“I thought so, too,” Charles said. “Apparently, he is not.”

Erik frowned. “So it _wasn’t_ a military operation?”

Charles shook his head. “When I finally was able to reach them I could only catch glimpses of their thoughts. They were following orders with almost mechanical precision. I’ve experienced the same with other military-trained individuals. But these men wore nothing typical of the military—no medals, no insignias. I tried to get a read on the leader—it was almost as if he expected me because he kept mentally repeating the same thing, even while he was giving orders.”

Not sure he wanted to hear the answer, Erik asked, “What was he saying?”

Charles shrugged. “He was thinking, ‘ _Focus, focus, focus…’_ Over and over again.”

So, yes, he hadn’t wanted to hear that because a simple, everyday word shouldn’t inspire such dread. “I’m assuming that was because of you?”

Charles shrugged. “I have no idea, but it would seem so.”

Again, they were all silent until Hank sighed and picked up the tray. “I’m going to my work room.” He hesitated, then turned. “Charles?”

“Yes?”

Hank raised the tray. “What if someone comes looking for it?”

Charles’s smile was sharp and cold and Erik was reminded how many layers Charles had—protective teacher, humorous companion, dangerous foe.

“We should be so lucky,” Charles said as he wheeled from behind the desk. “No, my best guess is they’ll try again once they’ve regrouped. That will give us time to research and prepare.”

Erik swung his legs to the side to make way for Charles. “Funding might be an avenue to explore.”

Charles nodded. “Yes. That device can’t have been cheap to manufacture.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hank chimed in.

“Which means private labs, private research, yes?” Charles shook his head. “An operation like that won’t be hidden for long. We’ll find them.”

“I’ll get started,” Hank said, turning to go.

“Hank?”

Hank stopped. “Yes?”

Charles’s smile softened. “You did well tonight. Thank you.”

Hank frowned. “I should have reacted sooner. Jean told me they were out there but I was working and I thought—” He shrugged.

“Hank,” Charles’s voice warmed and he leaned forward. “You did splendidly and the children are alive and well because of it.”

Hank actually blushed and ducked his head. Not that Erik blamed him—if Charles looked at him like that, he’d react the same way.

“Thanks, Charles,” Hank said, then left the room with that quick stride of his.

“Well,” Charles sighed, sitting back. “What a night.”

“Do you want to visit Cerebro?”

Charles glanced up at him. “Whatever for?”

“To find out who those men are. To hunt them down properly.”

“They should still unconscious. When they wake up, they’ll have to deal with Moira and the CIA.”

For the first time he was almost grateful for Charles’s too-close relationship with MacTaggert. Almost. “And the children?”

“They’re fine. They’re asleep.”

Erik went to the liquor cabinet and reached for the key. “What did you tell them?”

“That no one will bother them and that it’s important to get a good night’s rest.”

 _‘No one will bother them.’_ The comment reminded Erik of Suzy’s fear, how she’d held on too tight. It was too late for such anger and he shelved it for another time. “Feel like a drink?”

“Yes, please. There’s a bottle in the very back on the left, the cognac.”

Erik reached behind a couple new wines and found a squat bottle. He drew it out and then looked over his shoulder. “Hine? Are you sure?”

Charles smiled. “After all we’ve been through, I’m sure.” He reversed the wheelchair and made his way to the sofa. “Besides, my father bought it years ago; it seems fitting we break it open tonight. Well,” he added, leveraging himself out of the chair and onto the sofa, “my stepfather.”

With relish Erik opened the small bottle and sniffed the heady aroma. Wonderful. “Kurt Marko. You never speak of him.”

“What’s there to speak of?”

“You might say that he was a bastard. That he and his son were at you day and night until you got away.” Erik handed Charles a glass and sat down a respectable arm’s length away. He glanced at the glass, at the wonderfully rich, burnt orange color of the cognac. “You might say that.”

Charles sniffed the cognac and sighed. “Did Hank tell you?”

“No, Raven did.”

“Odd,” Charles said absently, “but sometimes I feel as if I’m forgetting her. I thought after D.C.…” He shrugged, obviously pushing away the pain of Raven’s decampment.

“You’ll never forget her, Charles, just as she’ll never forget you. She needs time.”

“I hope she’s happy wherever she is.”

“Me, too.”

Charles slanted him a look.

“What?” Erik asked.

“Considering how you two left it, considering you tried to kill her, I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“I don’t wish her any harm, Charles.”

“That’s good to hear.” Charles drew another long breath and smiled. “Do you know you never call her ‘Mystique,’ anymore?”

Erik sipped his cognac and thought about that. “I don’t imagine I call her much of anything. Why?”

“No reason. I just find it interesting.”

He gave it a beat, then murmured, “It’s over between us. You know that, right?”

That earned him another look. “I know. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

With a shock that hit his stomach and pushed away any thoughts of exhaustion, Erik realized that Charles was flirting with him. Not the full-on assault of their first acquaintance, but definitely there. Maybe it was due to sleep deprivation. Maybe it was leftover adrenaline from the failed attack. Charles had, after all, been through quite a bit over the last twelve hours.

“What?” Charles said.

“I’m—” Erik shook his head, wondering which adjective he should use first.

“Tired?”

“No. I mean, yes, but it’s not that.”

“Angry?”

“Yes, but not at you. I think I’m more confused than anything else.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Confused? Why?”

Erik half frowned. “What happened to you?”

“You mean when you left to rescue the children?”

He nodded.

“Nothing much. I grew tired of waiting. For some reason, I was able to reach a few of the men. I convinced them that they weren’t all needed. Eight of them came and got me out of the car and carried me across the forest, chair and all. It was almost funny.” At Erik’s exasperated frown, Charles shrugged and added, “Well, it was. We’d just reached the glen when something hit me. The men dropped me but I managed to put them to sleep before they realized what was going on. I was barely holding on when you came. Is that what you mean?”

“You were attacked, Charles. Jean was knocked unconscious and the children were put in grave danger.”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t that give you pause?”

Charles smiled. “Of course it does, but if you’re expecting me to succumb to the vapors, you don’t know me very well.”

Erik was almost angry. _‘Vapors’_ might be too much, but a little fear and a lot of caution? He didn’t understand. If Charles left him right now to guard the children’s rooms, he would think it perfectly logical.

“Well?” Charles said.

He shrugged. “I just thought you’d be a bit more worried.”

“I’m leaving that to you.”

He actually laughed, a short burst of non-humor. “What?”

“You were so very angry and worried earlier. I thought you were going to knock those policemen out and bundle them up with the others.”

“I was not worried.”

“Hm, mm.”

“Charles!”

“All right,” Charles sighed. “Maybe I’m exaggerating just a hair. Maybe I worry a little more than you.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Maybe it’s because you never let me properly thank you for all you did tonight.”

He frowned, trying to remember any such instance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Charles said gently. “Outside earlier. I was so proud of the way you handled those men and when I tried to thank you, you just flew off in a huff. It was a tiny bit maddening.”

He remembered the moment, thinking that Charles was going to criticize not thank. He swirled the cognac and shook his head. “We’re good at working at cross purposes, aren’t we?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not.”

“Case in point?”

Charles set his glass down and then calmly folded his hands together. “That’s easy. Tonight.”

“I’d hardly call tonight a good example of anything but scrambling to cover our asses.”

“I beg to differ,” Charles answered. “One…” He held up a finger. “When we discovered there was a problem, neither of us panicked and started off in different directions. We worked together. Two…” One more finger. “…you left me to help the children which is how it should work.” He smiled gently, as if that would take the sting out of the comment and then held up finger number three. “Three: you managed to incapacitate our attackers—twenty-seven of them, by the way—without injuring any of them, thereby putting us in the right and not the wrong and lastly, you managed to not get yourself hurt.” Charles shook his head, his smile fading as he added softly, “How can you call what happened tonight anything _but_ a perfect example of us working together well?”

“And the device?”

“We’ll worry about that when we know what it does, what is its main purpose.”

“I thought we _did_ know.”

“No, all we know is that it affected Jean and I. That could have been a haphazard side effect, not an intentional cause. We must be certain about what and whom we’re dealing with.”

“Charles—”

“Erik,” Charles interrupted with a sigh. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been in danger and no matter what I told the children, it won’t be the last.”

“All right,” Erik said slowly. “For the time being, we’ll wait but as soon as we know something, I’m going after the bastards.”

“Will you give me some warning when you go after said bastards?”

Erik sighed. Charles wasn’t taking any of this as seriously. “How were you going to thank me, by the way?” he asked conversationally, his gaze on his glass, his mind on the past. How many times had he tried to get Charles to open his eyes, how many times had Charles refused? “Am I to be put on the payroll?”

When there was no answer, he looked up.

Charles was watching him steadily and when their eyes met, Charles took Erik’s glass and set it by his own. “Shall I show you?”

Caught off guard, he could only gape as Charles leaned over and slowly reached up to cup his jaw. One quick glance at his mouth and then Charles licked his lips. There was a moment, painfully long, as Erik’s senses floundered and his wits scattered. He could feel the pressure of the air on his skin, he could hear the thrum of his startled heart.

And then, somehow shockingly, Charles kissed him.

Erik had imagined romance, he’d imagined intoxicating seduction, directed and choreographed by him with Charles the willing but passive recipient. He’d imagined all that but not this, the both of them tired and dirty with Charles the aggressor, kissing with a passion that was all the more ardent because it was nothing more than that, a kiss.

Charles sighed and drew back.

“Charles?”

Charles actually laughed. The sound was a spark and red fire streak up Erik’s spine. Imprisoned hunger ignited and he lunged.

Eleven years. He’d been fantasizing about this mouth for eleven long years and he’d underestimated everything. Charles’s skill, the sweet way he yielded, the muted sounds he made, little moans and sighs that were beyond sexy… So much for the _Seducing Charles_ strategy; so much for plans and schemes and—

“Hmm?” Charles whispered against Erik’s lips.

He pulled back just a bit. He felt lightheaded and different, like his body wasn’t his own. “I didn’t say anything.”

Charles grinned. “My mistake.”

Erik shut Charles up by kissing him, this time taking advantage of his height, his pulse so loud that it deafened him to everything but Charles’s hungry sounds.

And so it wasn’t anything more than that, the two of them working across a space made awkward by the angle of their own bodies and the many years. When Erik drew away once more, he had to stop from doing something stupid like whispering, _Eureka!_ He settled for, “Well,” instead.

“Well,” Charles agreed, eyes half closed, lips and cheeks flushed red. He licked his lips again.

“Jesus.” Erik took a heavy breath and scooted out of Charles’s reach. “Don’t look at me like that, Charles or I might take you right now and damn the children.”

Charles’s smile widened, showing his white, even teeth. “Do you really think you can?”

Instead of answering, Erik frowned and asked the question he really didn’t want to ask, “Why now?”

Charles didn’t pretend ignorance. The laughter in his eyes dimmed. He reached for Erik’s hand and then pulled himself upright, saying calmly, “Because it was time.”

“As simple as that?”

Charles didn’t answer straight off. He looked down, studying Erik’s hand as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Just when Erik was about to say, _‘Never mind,’_ he murmured, “You never asked for details.”

“The details of what?”

Charles’s stroked Erik’s palm with his thumb. “Last year, the future Charles and the future Erik—how they did it, why they did it.”

“You told me. They needed to fix the future and they used that girl, Kitty, to send Logan’s consciousness back in time to stop Raven from going after Trask.”

“Yes, I told you that, but I never told you that I actually spoke to Charles.” Charles looked up and shrugged, a diffident slip of one shoulder. “I mean me. I talked to me.”

So much for celebrating, so much for shouting. He didn’t want to know this. No matter what Charles saw, no matter their current amiability, anything could tip this particular boat, anything could send them drowning. Charles, however, was waiting for his reply, so he said calmly, “I imagine that was a bit odd.”

“It was. But more than that, it was enlightening.”

“How so?”

Charles spread Erik’s fingers, forming a wing. “It’s hard to explain but as soon as I woke up in that time, I could sense the danger they were in. There were four of them, all wearing black military uniforms. They were scared and alone, but…” Charles shook his head and curved his fingers between Erik’s.

“But?” Erik prompted softly, bending towards Charles.

Charles took a shallow breath. “The other Charles was so afraid. Through his mind I could see vague images of the sentinels—they were right outside and he wasn’t sure if he and his team were going to survive.” Charles half frowned, half smiled, as if he couldn’t decide which suited the moment best. “It was so strange. I felt his fear but more than that, I felt his hope and faith. He was in the most terrible place imaginable, standing at the edge of his world’s demise, but he still had hope.”

Charles shook his head, his expression now puzzled and lost. “After D.C., after I began to regroup, I thought on that moment for so very long. I couldn’t see how he could be so hopeful when things were so bad. I couldn’t figure out how I was ever going to regain even a portion of that calm. And then I realized that moment in the future wasn’t all about him.” Charles looked up, his gaze piercing, arrow-straight. “He wasn’t alone. He was with his friends and loved ones. He was with his Erik. After all they’d done to each other—things I could _feel—_ they still had _them_.”

Charles’s low voice was like a spell and Erik absorbed its magic, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck. “So it wasn’t just that we sent Logan, but I was actually there, fighting by your side?”

Charles nodded. “Yes. We were together. We managed to find our way back to each other.”

He wanted to mourn for that other lost Charles, that other lost Erik. He also wanted to rage at the waste. They should have known better, they should have tried harder… “Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

“Because I was waiting for you to leave me again.”

It hurt, that composed observation and he bowed his head, accepting its weight. “Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Will you do something for me?”

Charles didn’t blink. “I can try.”

The old Charles would have said _‘Anything,’_ but this was better, this was truer, and Erik raised their entwined fingers to his forehead. “Show me.”

Charles stilled. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to end up like them. I don’t want to waste what time we have. But, I need to see.”

Charles’s eyes widened and then he nodded. Delicately, wordlessly, he freed his hand. With just his fingertips, he touched Erik’s temple and then his own. He closed his eyes and—

_—and the world contracts and expands and Erik’s in a dark room, flat on a table made of stone. He sits up slowly and looks around. He’s not alone. There’s a girl sitting behind him, facing the table, her hands cupping nothing but air. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she seems to be panting. Kneeling by her side is a bearded young man; his face is grim with worry._

_Erik takes it all in within seconds, his focus turning to the two men sitting off to the side. They’re old, maybe in their seventies or eighties. Their costumes are similar but their expressions are not. The one standing is watching the scene, his face cold, removed. The one in the floating wheelchair, however, is studying the girl intently and though he seems worried, his gaze is filled with compassionate concern._

_Ignoring his own older self, Erik bends down and scrutinizes the man before him. This is Charles, worn and tired. This is Charles who’s seen too much and lost too many. But it’s also Charles at his most elemental because this is Charles when he loves in spite of the pain and grief. Erik touches his own chest because it hurts, because that love was once his and it hu—_

No…

_—the scene flashes as if hit by a bomb made of light. The world wavers and fades and reforms. He’s now by a lake. It’s spring and though the lawn is still threadbare, the trees are in full flower. He hears his name, a joyful, ‘Erik!’ He turns._

_There, standing under a tall oak is Charles. As if wishing makes it happen, Erik is suddenly in Charles’s mind and he sees a young girl with long blond hair playing by the lake. Beside her are two people, a man and a woman._

_The image fades again, this time gently, and he’s falling into another memory, dim and vague, that of cool, lush grass under his bare feet and geese somewhere nearby. He hears a deep voice call out,_ ‘Schatzi, come look. He’s walking already!’ _unsure if the words are in English or German or a mix of both because he’s not quite sure where he ends and—_

Erik.

_—Charles begins, but it doesn’t matter, because they’re one, they’re the same, and he’s not…_

Erik, come back to me.

_…alone any—_

“Erik?”

He returned to himself with an effort, feeling the weight of gravity, the shape of his own body, and the warmth of Charles’s hands.

“Are you all right?”

He opened his eyes, only then realizing that he’d closed them. Charles was watching him tenderly, his eyes wet and his cheeks flushed. He was smiling as if Erik had given him the most glorious gift.

“It was,” Charles said, wiping his eyes with no sign of shame. “It was a most glorious gift.”

He touched his temple. “You’re in there?”

“For several weeks now; I can’t stop it. Is that all right?”

“Yes.” He pressed his fingers against his skull. The vague presence he’d labeled _Charles_ was now a physical shape that didn’t remotely hurt. “I think that was my father. At the end, I mean.”

Charles nodded. “I think so, too. You have his eyes and hair color.”

“I don’t remember him very well.”

“I saw him clearly. He was with your mother in a park. They were taking you for a walk in a pram and had stopped to let you totter about. You kept falling down.” Charles squeezed his hand. “Your mother was very beautiful.”

Charles didn’t add, _‘before the war,’_ but he might as well have. “I still can’t believe you can remember the things I’d forgotten.”

“It wasn’t me. It’s all in there, if you want to ever see again.”

“Not now,” Erik said, touching his temple again. “It feels odd.” He looked up. “You, I mean.”

“So I’m told.”

“How do I feel to you?”

“Like light and dark and everything in between.”

It was his turn to squeeze, gripping Charles’s hand hard. “Is it too much for you?”

“No. Is it too much that I have to be helped everywhere I go?”

He gave that the attention it deserved. “I’d like to stay with you tonight.”

He’d expected some token argument, but Charles just nodded as if they’d already had this conversation and things were long settled between them. “Will you please make sure the house is locked up? I want to check on Jean.”

“If you wait, I’ll go with you. I want to see how Suzy is doing.”

Charles smiled. “I’ll wait.”

***

Erik took longer than expected, having gone outside to float up above the mansion, just to be sure no one was about. It was a foolish enterprise—the moon had dropped low and it was too dark to see anything other than the statuary and the house itself. He came back down and went inside.

He found Charles waiting by the lift. Opening the door, he gestured for Charles to go first. It was a tight squeeze, wedged between the side and the chair. His groin was almost on the level of Charles’s head and he had to keep his thoughts in check. It didn’t work and by the time the lift came to a halt, he was half hard and Charles was grinning like a loon, trying not to snicker.

“On Monday, I’ll talk to Hank about getting the lift upgraded,” Charles said as Erik leaned sideways to open the gate.

“You do that.”

Charles choked back a laugh. Erik just gave him a sour look, then went left as Charles went right.

Suzy and Tessa were in the same bed. Tessa was asleep but Suzy was not. She was holding her purple rhino and turned on her side to face the door. When Erik slowly pushed the door open, her face brightened.

He held his finger up to his lips and nodded to her side of the room. Without a word, she slipped free of the covers and went to her own bed. He got her settled and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

“How are you doing?” he asked, stroking her hair back from her forehead. He should have remembered his gift—it was still in the Cadillac with the luggage.

Suzy hugged the rhino tighter. “Tessa said those men are coming back.”

He needed to ask Charles to have another talk with Tessa about the things she could and couldn’t say to Suzy. “They’re not, sweetheart. They’re in the custody of the police.”

She frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“‘Custody?’ Just that the police have arrested them and they’re in jail. Agent MacTaggert,” he added on sudden inspiration, “will be handling the investigation. She won’t let them get out.”

As expected, the mere mention of Moira’s name made Suzy’s frown disappear. “I’ll bet she locks them up real good.”

He started to correct Suzy’s grammar, then gave a mental shrug—she didn’t need that right now. “I’ll bet she does, too. She’s a tough lady.”

Suzy smiled and turned on her side. “She told me she has a little boy and she’s going to bring him next time. I told her I don’t like boys but she said that I don’t have to like him to be friends with him.” Suzy’s brow wrinkled and she looked up. ‘What’s that mean?”

“I think Mrs. MacTaggert was simply saying that friendships can be complicated and that you don’t always get to choose who your friends are.”

She thought on that for a moment and then said, “That’s okay. I still don’t like boys.”

He wanted to laugh but settled for bending low and kissing her forehead. “Get some sleep. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Obediently, she closed her eyes. He waited a moment, then stood up. When he turned, he found Charles in the doorway, watching.

Even in the half-light he could see that Charles was beaming. So easy—Charles was so easy. All Erik had to do was be kind to one little girl and he’d get whatever he wanted.

Charles heard that and he rolled his eyes as he put the chair in reverse, moving soundlessly into the hall. Erik followed, closing the door gently. Hand still on the doorknob, he hesitated.

At once, Charles stopped. “What is it?” he whispered.

Without a word, he nodded to the room on the other side of the wing, the room that was silent and empty of everything save memories.

Some of Charles’s happiness faded. “Are you sure? You don’t want to be out of sight, out of mind?”

Erik couldn’t turn back time. He couldn’t bend it like Suzy or slip through it like the girl from the future. He could only obey its immutable laws and go forward. But nothing said he had to go it alone, and he held his hand out. “It needs to be there. It’s important.”

Charles swallowed and turned back around.

***

Charles’s suite was as he’d left it and he went and closed the curtains even though it didn’t really matter—no one could see in, not at this height. When he was done, he opened the bedroom door and gestured.

Charles rolled slowly into the room and then stopped. He looked around. “It’s just the same.”

With a flick of his fingers, Erik locked the door and turned on the lamp next to the bed. He pulled back the comforter. “How long has it been since you’ve been here?”

“Other than that time with you, a while.”

“If I were you, I’d move back in.” He held a pillow to his nose; it smelled like fabric softener, not dust or mold. “This is a much bigger space than the one downstairs.”

“You just want me back up here next to you.”

“I want you anyway I can have you.” There was a long silence and he looked over his shoulder. Charles had lost the forlorn air and was smiling again.

“Erik.”

He dropped the pillow and was at Charles’s side. Kneeling, he took Charles’s hand. “If Suzy could see me now,” he whispered, turning Charles’s hand palm up to kiss the very center.

“What on earth does that mean?”

“Find out for yourself.”

Without touching his own forehead, Charles closed his eyes for just a moment, then said, “Is that what you told her? That I rescued you?”

“You did.”

“I thought it was a mistake at the time.”

“I know. And now?”

 _‘And now,’_ Charles said inside Erik’s head, _‘I think it was you who rescued me.’_

Inside the honesty of Charles’s thoughts, he saw Charles as he was all those months ago, ratty brown leather jacket and all. Charles was in his wheelchair, looking up. Someone came close and bent over him. It was Logan, saying something about, _‘I don’t know how to do that for—’_

Erik rubbed his eyes, rubbing out the thing he didn’t want to see. Logan probably saved Charles as much as he, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

“It wasn’t like that,” Charles said softly, cupping Erik’s jaw. “I’ll be forever indebted to him, but he is very much in love with someone else. Or rather,’ Charles added with an odd, sad smile, “he _will_ be in love with someone else.”

Whatever. “No more Logan talk.”

“You were the one who brought him up.”

He sighed and got to his feet. “I have a feeling that we’re going to have many such conversations.”

“As long as they end like this,” Charles sweetly said, nodding to the bed, “I doubt either of us will complain.”

Eric waved Charles’s wheelchair closer to the bed. “Do you need the facilities?”

“I need a bath, as, I might add, do you.”

“You’ll live and I don’t care,” he said absently, examining Charles, determining which piece of clothing he was going to remove first. Though he’d taken his own tie off sometime during the evening, Charles was still wearing his suit from the trip—his coat was filthy and he had a hole in his trousers. “We left for D.C. this morning,” Erik muttered. “It feels like forever ago. Lean forward.” Charles leaned forward and Erik pulled his coat off. He tossed it on the chair.

“Hey,” Charles objected. “That’s a nice jacket.”

“That hasn’t been a nice jacket for about five hours,” he answered without losing focus, not quite believing he was actually doing this, that Charles was letting him.

“It’s not like I want you to stop, you know,” Charles said, looking down as Erik unbuttoned his shirt.

“I’d like to see you try.” He unfastened the last button and opened Charles’s shirt and just like that, the world slowed down once more.

Charles was wearing a white undershirt and through the thin cotton, Erik could see the way he was formed, his strong chest and the small fold of fat at his belly. So unfair that Charles could do this to him just by _being_ and he waited for some smartass Charles comment. All he got was a shallow, indrawn breath and another soft, _“Erik.”_

“Come on,” he said, reaching out, unable to meet Charles’s gaze.

Charles held his arms up and together, they got him on the bed.

Mind blank, afraid it would all come to head too soon, he removed Charles’s clothes down to his underwear. He tossed everything on top of the jacket, only this time Charles made no objections; he just leaned back, almost displaying himself.

Unlike his shoulders, arms and chest, Charles’s legs were thin from lack of use. Coming closer to stroke the fine hair on Charles’s thigh, Erik asked, “Can you feel that?” It was a struggle, keeping his voice free of sympathy and regret.

Charles gave Erik a wry smile and then shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, I can’t.” He reached for Erik’s hand and placed it on his chest, right above his heart. “But I can feel that,” he added, his voice catching, his body tensing. He moved Erik’s hand down to his belly. “And that.”

Muttering an oath, Erik pressed hard, leaning in to give Charles a kiss and then again, one knee on the bed, angling his hand so his fingertips were just under the waistband of Charles’s underwear. “And this?” he said, sliding lower. “What about this?” he whispered, truly meaning, ‘ _Did I ruin this for you, too?’_ though he knew the answer.

With a small moan, Charles replied by taking Erik’s hand once more and guiding it down.

 _“Charles,”_ Erik hissed, kissing Charles’s mouth, cheek and shoulder, feeling the fluid heat of Charles’s cock, silky hard, and it split inside him, the feeling and knowledge that here they were, finally, finally, _final—_

“Now you,” Charles said, pulling Erik’s shirt free, his hands cold on Erik’s chest and sides. “Come on…”

He let go of Charles and stripped, stumbling and fumbling in his haste, snarling mildly because Charles was laughing at him, only not—

 _‘…really. It’s your hair. It’s sticking up,’_ Charles mused silently. _‘It’s adorable.’_

Erik wanted to say something along the lines that there was very little about him that was adorable, that Charles on the other hand was nothing but. Only he didn’t get a chance because as soon as he was naked, Charles pulled him down.

The first touch was like fire and they gasped as one. Eyes half-mast, Erik stroked Charles’s waist and then thigh, stilling the immediate urge to thrust mindlessly, needing a moment that never came because Charles was in his head, repeating his name over and over like a mantra, ‘ _Erik, Erik, Erik…’_

He groaned at the sound, the crazy sense of Charles inside and out. Searching, he curled his fingers around Charles’s cock, meeting his stuttering breath with messy kisses. Charles laughed again and Erik gave up trying to be good. He began to push against Charles’s thigh, dizzy with the twin need to fuck and watch because it was another minor revelation, Charles’s wide-eyed joy as he reached down, his fingers warm and strong.

Erik shuddered at the touch and then arched, struggling not to hold and press too hard because he didn’t want to hurt Charles anymore, not ever again. He came that way, stunned and silent, afraid to miss a moment.

With a surprised, soft cry, Charles came a heartbeat later and as Erik watched, mind still muzzy with bliss, he could swear he was no longer on the bed but in a sea of blue with Charles on top, driving them both to heaven.

***

“Sorry,” Charles said sleepily.

“What for?” Erik answered, face mashed against Charles’s chest.

Charles stroked Erik’s back, from his nape to his shoulder blade. The soft touch made Erik shiver and press closer. “For that bit at the end. I couldn’t help myself.”

He pushed up. They were a sticky mess and he’d move, but in a moment. “What was that?”

Charles shrugged. “Remember I told you that my powers had gotten stronger?”

“I do.”

“Well,” Charles shrugged again, this time with a small smile. “I now have the ability to project my consciousness onto another plane of existence. And not only that, I can bring others with me.”

“You’re kidding.”

Charles traced the line of Erik’s jaw. “I am not.”

He settled back down and stroked his thumb over the smooth ridges of Charles’s ribs. “How did it happen?”

“It was gradual. After D.C., I was aware that something had changed inside, but I wasn’t sure what. The first time I accidentally _made_ it happen was last year. We’d just brought Suzy to the house and she was so terrified and angry. The only thing she showed any interest in was the Thompsons’ horses. One night I went out to the terrace, frustrated with myself, worried I’d never be able to reach her. I was thinking if I could just ride again, I’d borrow a horse from the Thompsons and help her work out her issues in the field.” Charles shook his head slowly. “Next thing I know, I’m actually on a horse in their field. I was terrified until I realized it wasn’t real.”

“It sounds amazing.”

Charles snorted. “It was not. I talked to Hank about it and we did some experiments. If I’m with someone, I’m limited by distance but not, apparently, imagination.”

“And the other participants, what do they feel?”

Charles tugged on a lock of Erik’s hair. “You tell me.”

He frowned. Though the memory was only a few minutes old, it was hard recalling the details. It was almost as if it had happened to someone else.

“It’s like trying to catch smoke, isn’t it?” Charles said.

“As I’ve never tried to catch smoke, I’ll take your word for it.”

Charles tugged again. “I thought sex would loosen you up but it hasn’t.”

Erik struggled for outrage and found only complacent satisfaction. He rubbed his cheek against Charles’s chest, hoping it burned just a little. “I thought sex would make you more loopy and it did.” He waited for and received another soft tug. He wanted to respond in kind because a loopy Charles was a sexy Charles but he was too comfortable, too happy to move.

Charles began to stroke his arm. “Erik?”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking, the school is only going to get bigger and it’s foolish keeping this room empty.”

“And your solution is?”

Charles made a small motion and then reached for the pillows. “Could you…?”

As if they’d done it a hundred times before, he situated Charles so they could get under the bedclothes.

“Here…” Charles said, giving Erik a pillow. They made themselves comfortable and Charles continued, “I want to convert it to two rooms. Because it’s bigger, we’ll put the older students here, the ones that need more space.”

“Like Alex or Jean?”

“Yes.”

He pushed up again. Charles had a hint of that blankness about him which meant he was worried about something and wasn’t sure how it would go over. “And my room?”

“I was thinking…” Charles gave him a quick glance. “The room next to mine is full of my mother’s things. With one thing and another, I’ve never gotten around to sorting it all. What if we move the junk up to the attic and then clean the room out. It’s a big space with big windows.”

“Is there a connecting door to your room?”

“No, but we can put one in. Plus,” Charles added, covering Erik’s hand with his own, “we can convert the attached storage room into a sitting room. It won’t be hard—Hank suggested we do it some months ago but I didn’t want to bother with it.”

Charles was still waiting for the metaphorical raised eyebrow, the objection to what was a completely logical plan. It was going to take time, Erik realized, for Charles to truly believe he wasn’t going to cut and run. It was slightly frustrating but understandable and he’d just have to be patient.

So he dropped back down and laced their fingers together. “It’s a good idea. It has the added benefit of the both of us being on the ground floor in case something happens. This room is too far from the front and side doors.”

“I’ll call an architect.”

“Don’t bother. I’m sure with Hank and David’s help, we can do the work. If there’s anything we can’t handle, we’ll find a contractor.”

“If you’re sure.”

He kissed the back of Charles’s hand. “I’m sure.”

Charles sighed, slow and deep and this time when Erik rubbed his cheek against Charles’s chest, he made it soft and gentle.

Charles fell asleep soon after. Erik tried to stay awake but it was no use and he gave in after only a few minutes.

***

He woke up much later, not knowing at first where he was. Sometime in the night, Charles had pulled the comforter up and they were separated by its heavy weight. Erik got up and went to the bathroom. He washed, then rinsed out the cloth with hot water and returned to the bedroom.

In the moonlight with one arm out flung and the other resting on his chest, Charles looked like something from one of Suzy’s books. _The sleeping prince,_ Erik thought with unabashed tenderness. It was almost intoxicating, the idea that he didn’t have to worry about keeping such thoughts from the surface of his mind anymore. That he was allowed to look and touch…

“Charles?” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Come on—we need to get you to your room.” He turned on the lamp.

Charles opened his eyes.

Under Charles’s half-awake gaze, Erik washed him, enjoying the way Charles hummed, the way his shoulders bunched as if he couldn’t help himself. “Did you dream?” Erik asked as he was finishing up, taking longer than necessary because he didn’t want to stop.

“No,” Charles answered slowly, “not tonight.”

“Good.”

***

When they got downstairs, Erik ignored Charles’s comments that he wasn’t a child and helped him into his pajamas and then into bed. His assistance wasn’t without guile—if he was helping Charles it meant he got to touch Charles.

Wishing he could stay, he kissed Charles on his sleepy mouth and then left, tiptoeing back upstairs.

Mind and body too awake, he lay in bed for a while, running the day’s events over and over, thinking about building supplies and intruders, the vagaries of chance and luck, but mostly about Charles, warm in bed, one floor down.

***

“Don’t be stupid about this,” Erik actually said to himself as he sprang out of bed the next morning. _Don’t be stupid, don’t act stupid, don’t say stupid things._ The younger children wouldn’t notice but the older children were like living seismometers. They’d sense even the most minute shift between Charles and him, so he’d need to take care. And, he’d probably have to do all the work because Charles was hopeless when it came to subterfuge—he wore his heart on his sleeve for all to see.

So, as Erik showered and dressed he also planned, coming up with five good reasons why he was moving digs. He was still working on a sixth when he wandered into the kitchen with the idea of making a cup of tea for Charles so he could sneak into his room as a surprise.

Alex was getting a pitcher of orange juice out of the refrigerator, the children were busy eating and there, sitting at the head of the table and _not_ in his room, was Charles.

“Good morning,” Charles said, giving Erik a pleasant smile.

“Good morning,” he mumbled in return. There were circles under Charles’s eyes, which meant he hadn’t slept enough, and whose fault was that? “What are you doing here?”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Eating breakfast?”

“The professor is going to take us into town this morning,” Jean said.

“We’re getting new clothes!” Suzy added.

“Yes,” Charles said. “I realized this morning that we haven’t been on a proper shopping expedition this year and as we missed back-to-school time, it seemed fitting.” He took a sip of tea. “Besides, after the commotion yesterday, I thought it might be nice to be out and about so David and Hank are taking us.”

“I’m getting new boots!” Tessa exclaimed around a bite of toast.

“Tessa, my dear,” Charles said, “what did I say about talking with your mouth full? Jordan, could you please move? You know that’s Erik’s seat.”

Tessa finished her toast with her lips firmly closed, Jordan moved, and Erik sat down at the other end of the table.

“Are you hungry?” Charles asked.

Erik shook his head. “No.” Alex had gone to the cupboard for a glass but instead of joining them at the table, he poured the juice and drank it in one gulp.

“Because these eggs are quite good. Hank has this way of mixing in a little milk and chee—”

“Charles?”

Charles glanced up. “Yes?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, really meaning, _‘Why aren’t you still in bed and how can I get you back there?’_

Charles did nothing more than raise an eyebrow but Jean coughed and then flushed, covering her mouth with her hand.

It was something they were going to have to work on, Jean and her abilities, but he didn’t much care about that right now. Right now, he needed to figure out how to get Charles alone and then get out of a shopping trip.

“I was thinking,” Charles said, arranging his fork and knife on his empty plate, “of our plan to make more room upstairs. If you have time, you and Alex could get started on my mother’s room while Hank and I take the children to Danbury.”

Erik raised an eyebrow—Alex was busy washing his glass with a little too much vigor. “If it’s okay with Summers,” he said slowly, “it’s okay with me. I need to fix the fence, first.”

Charles looked over his shoulder. “Alex?”

Alex didn’t turn around. “So you’re just gonna pretend that we weren’t attacked last night?”

“No one is pretending anything,” Charles said. “I’ve called the police—they’re sending a detective either this afternoon or tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” Alex answered, adding, “it’s not my problem anyway.” He stomped from the room.

Charles watched him go and then sighed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Erik, as you’re not hungry, will you join me in my study?”

Erik was standing before Charles had finished speaking. “Of course.”

Charles rolled back from the table and said to the children, “We’ll leave in twenty minutes. Hank was nice enough to make your favorite breakfast so you’re all on cleanup detail.”

There was a chorus of ‘okays’ as the children got up and rushed to the sink, jabbering on about what store they were going to go to first.

***

Charles was quiet as they walked the short distance to his study. He went straight to his desk, leaving Erik by the door.

“So much for the morning after,” Erik muttered as he closed the door with a flick of his fingers.

Charles sighed and visibly lost his air of distraction. “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult start to the day.” He held out his hand.

Erik could do nothing but go to him and let himself be pulled down.

They kissed, then again, Erik tipping Charles’s head for a better angle. Charles tasted of tea and toothpaste, a combination that should have been vile but wasn’t.

When they drew apart, Charles was smiling. “Good morning,” he said foolishly.

Erik smiled just as helplessly. “Good morning to you, too.” He kissed Charles again, then let go and went to sit in the chair nearest the desk. “Now,” he added, crossing his legs and schooling his features—his body’s instant reaction to everything Charles was going to be an issue and one more thing he was going to have to work on. “What has happened that has you so upset?”

Charles folded his hands together. “Alex knows about us.”

Erik sat up straighter. “Already?”

“He saw you coming from my room last night.”

“And? Just coming from your room hardly—”

“Apparently,” Charles interrupted, his smile softening and widening, both at the same time, “he came home just as you were leaving. You were in a state of disarray and smiling—and I quote—‘like a complete nut job.’”

The former was correct—Erik hadn’t bothered fastening everything because it had been two o’clock in the morning. As to the other, he’d been too tired to do much other than get upstairs. Although that wasn’t completely true, he silently conceded, because he did remember running up the stairs, the result of the euphoria that was still coursing through his body. “What business of it is his, anyway? We’re adults—we can do what we like.”

Charles came around from the desk. “Agreed,” he said calmly, “but the children feel a great deal of ownership over me, as they would any parental figure. It’s natural they might feel antipathy or anxiety over my change in circumstances. And then there’s the American cultural condemnation of homosexuality. If and when the children do find out, some will be upset, some won’t care…” Charles reached out and took Erik’s hand. “…and some will have a much more complicated reaction. Did you know about Alex and Armando?”

This time his surprise was absolute, still caught up in the disturbing concept that he was an interloper with no rights to Charles except those of distant history. “You’re joking?”

“I am not.” Charles turned his chair to face Erik; their knees bumped. “They began a relationship soon after they met. When Darwin died, Alex was devastated.”

Erik looked down at their joined hands, the way they fit together, the way they didn’t. “I had no idea.”

“I know.”

“That must have been—” He shook his head, remembering Raven’s distressed-filled comment: _‘…we can’t even bury him…’_

“It was awful,” Charles said gently. “For Alex it was more so. Like many of us, he felt isolated as a child, but unlike many of us, he was a danger to others. When he learned that he couldn’t hurt Armando, that Armando could take anything he’d give…” Charles shook his head. “Armando made Alex feel like he wasn’t a freak of nature. When that was taken away, it caused a wound that has never quite healed.” Charles smiled sadly.

“I imagine Vietnam didn’t help.”

Charles breathed a laugh that held no humor. “No, it did not. As soon as I began thinking about opening the school again, I found Alex. He was living in a flat in the city and though he seemed to have matured, inside he was still the same angry boy. I convinced him to return but it hasn’t been smooth sailing. Now that his little brother is having the same issues, all of Alex’s anger and denial about Armando is resurfacing. It doesn’t help that he’s jealous.”

Erik digested all that and then asked, “Are you saying Alex is in love with you?”

Charles gave him a startled grin, “Good lord, no. At least,” he added reflectively, cocking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Charles—”

Charles sighed. “All I am saying, Erik, is that my relationship with the students is complicated. Alex looks at me as a teacher and mentor and seeing me get something he no longer has is going to be very hard on him.”

“What would you like me to do?”

Charles leaned forward. “Help him, guide him. Show him by example that our changed circumstances won’t change anything for _him_ and that you two can still be friends. I’ll do the rest.”

“All right,” Erik said slowly, “but he hates me. He always has.”

This time it was Charles that said, “You’re joking.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “That comes as a surprise to you?”

“The surprise is that you don’t know that before things went south in ‘62, Alex had a schoolboy crush on you.”

“He did not.”

“Well,” Charles conceded with a shrug, “it wasn’t quite a crush but he looked up to you immensely. They all did.”

That couldn’t be true. “They were afraid of me.”

“On the contrary, my friend. They were a little wary of you but mostly dazzled. You were unlike anyone they’d ever met. Sophisticated, powerful…” Charles grinned. “…devilishly hand—”

“Charles, stop it,” Erik growled, half serious, half not.

With a fond smile, Charles reached up and stroked Erik’s chin. “It’s hard to believe you didn’t know.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re telling the truth, but…” He sighed and curled his fingers around Charles’s hand. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“And?”

“And, I’ll talk to Alex. Maybe he and I can find some common ground.” He traced Charles’s palm with his finger, enjoying the small shiver he received in return. “You do need to know that I’m not giving you up to anyone. Not to a bunch of school kids, nor the CIA, or the FBI. You’re mine now.”

Charles smiled. “I feel quite the same, my friend, and I’d kiss you until your lips are numb but three young girls are running down the hall towards this office. Apparently, they’ve tired of waiting.”

Erik let go. “Later, then.”

“Later.”

***

Erik saw the troop off to their shopping excursion, then went to outside. It was quick work, fixing the fence. There was one tricky moment when he thought a passing motorist saw the last of the iron dropping into place. The woman slowed down but after a long moment, kept going. Relieved, Erik brushed his perfectly clean hands off and went back to the mansion.

Alex wasn’t anywhere to be found, not in his room, the downstairs workroom, or Hank’s laboratory. Eventually, Erik went to where he should have started first: the garage. Alex was bent over the guts of his faded red Charger.

“Hello,” Erik said, when Alex didn’t look up.

“Hey,” Alex said shortly, still focused on the engine.

Erik wanted to sigh. It would be so much easier if he could say, _‘Look—Charles told me that you’re jealous of us but you’re just going to have to get over it. You’re no longer a kid and this is stupid.’_

But that wasn’t quite helpful, especially since Erik well knew that being a mutant added its own unique burdens.

He’d long realized that discovering one had powers necessitated the need for growing up quickly. That meant all the normal, everyday events like a first crush or that first taste of beer, were subsumed by the overwhelming realization that one was different. Without the help of someone like Charles, it was quite possible for a mutant to be forever stuck in that twilight world between childhood and adulthood where anger and confusion reigned. He’d seen the result before—he’d made _use_ of the result before. “What are you doing?” he said, trying a new tactic, keeping his tone mild.

“Nothing.”

He craned his neck. “It looks as if you’re trying to repair an engine block that has a crack in it.”

Alex paused, then looked over his shoulder. “What if I am?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to put in a new block?”

“What’s it to you?”

It was on the tip of Erik’s tongue to say, _‘It’s nothing to me, but if I don’t at least try, Charles won’t sleep with me tonight,’_ but that would make things worse, so he just asked, “When did you get it? Was it when you got back to the States?”

Alex’s mouth worked, and then he turned back to the car. “It’s not mine,” he muttered.

“Who’s is it? Logan’s?”

“No,” Alex said as if he were grinding his teeth. “It was Darwin’s.”

Oh. _Oh._ “I don’t remember him having a car.”

“He didn’t,” Alex said after a moment. “He kept it in storage in Brooklyn.” Before Erik could ask, Alex added, “No, he didn’t give it to me. I stole it from his loser of a brother.”

“I didn’t know Armando had a brother.”

“You don’t know anything about him ‘cause you never asked.”

“That’s true.”

The quiet admission hit its mark and Alex straightened up and turned.

They stared at each other until Alex visibly relaxed, though still on the edge of anger. “I can’t replace the block. I can’t afford it. It would cost a hundred bucks, at least.”

Erik raised his hand, palm out. “Can I try?”

Alex hesitated. “What if you make it worse?”

“Then I’ll buy you a new one.”

That did it. Alex smirked and gestured with the wrench. “All right. Go for it.”

Erik went over and leaned in to look at the engine block. He ran his finger over the crack.

Alex leaned over, too. “How long is it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How deep is it?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Are you sure you—”

Erik cocked his head. “Summers?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you please shut up?”

For some reason, that made Alex happy. He grinned and got out of Erik’s way. “Will do.”

Erik bent to the task again. He wasn’t Charles—he couldn’t just _know_ things. But he could feel the structure of the iron and thought he could tell where the metal had fractured. Delicately, he urged the molecules to re-arrange and re-form until the crack was gone.

“Cool,” Alex whispered.

“You’ve seen me work before,” he said absently, feeling for any weakness within the metal.

“Yeah, but it’s still cool. I can just melt things, not make them whole again.”

“In some cases, it’s the same thing.”

Alex thought about that. “I guess so.”

“Now,” Erik straightened up. “We’re supposed to work in the house but if you have enough fuel, I think we should give her…” He nodded to the car. “…a go.”

***

They took the Charger out to 121 and opened her up, driving as fast as they dared, taking turns. On the way back, Alex asked if they could stop at a store to get some beer. Erik pulled up next to a Mercedes and cut the engine.

He waited in the car while Alex jogged into the store, barely missing a lady dressed to the nines. She glanced at the Charger and then met Erik’s gaze. She literally turned up her nose and hurried to her car.

So funny. Years ago, when Erik had first arrived in Westchester and Raven had taken them on the tour, she’d said the mansion was the largest within a fifty-mile radius. What would the snooty lady say if he told her he was living in a house that could hold four normal sized homes? That the grounds were so big, one could get lost? He grinned and when she glanced at him again, he winked. She tightened her lips and sped away.

Erik snorted and then shook his head, his smile dying when he remembered that it wasn’t his house, it wasn’t his land. He was living as a borrower because none of it was truly his. Charles, of course, would argue the point but that didn’t mean he’d be right.

The thought darkened the bright day and Erik was frowning when Alex returned, six-pack in hand.

***

Erik and Alex spent the rest of the day clearing out the room next to Charles’s.

Alex didn’t ask why they were hauling the chests and boxes up to the attic and garage, he just worked. At one point, he suggested some music because, ‘ _Hank set up a sweet sound system you have to hear to believe.’_ Erik said sure and in a moment, the floor echoed with songs from the pop station in Danbury. He much preferred classical but it was a nice change of pace and he found himself humming along to songs he would have sworn he didn’t know the lyrics to.

At one point in the afternoon when he was in the middle of loading a dolly with boxes of junk, he felt an invisible touch, like a warm press of fingers on his cheek and he knew that Charles had just reached out to him from wherever he was. He paused, head cocked, waiting for a repeat but nothing happened. Hoping everything was all right but suddenly completely happy, he went back to it.

And that’s where Charles found them hours later, _Bennie and the Jets_ blasting, filthy from the dust and dirt, half-heartedly arguing whether or not the box full of moth-ridden dresses should be burned or thrown away.

“Hello?” Charles shouted.

Erik looked over his shoulder and waved.

Charles plugged his ears with his fingers and shouted again, “Will you turn that down, please?”

Erik nodded to Alex who ran out of the room. In a moment, the music was off, leaving a vacuum of silence.

“That’s better,” Charles said, wheeling into the room.

“How did it go? Are you broke?”

“The trust fund is more than secure, thank you very much,” Charles said, turning in a circle. “You got quite a bit done, didn’t you?”

Erik dropped the box and looked around. As they’d delved into the mess, he realized that like all the rooms in the mansion, this one had beautiful lines. With two tall windows on the south and a bank of them on the west, it would be sunny yet private. He had pictured it, making love to Charles on the sofa with the sun streaming in. “We had to throw a lot away. The boxes are in the garage in case you want to go through them.” He got out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

Charles nodded. “I saw them.”

“We just threw out the stuff that was rotten,” Alex said, coming back in. “We kept everything else.”

“One man’s trash…” Charles said, rolling over to a box and looking inside. “I can’t imagine there’d be anything much worth keeping. My mother was quite the packrat and she liked to shop.”

“Some of the dresses were pretty fancy,” Alex said. “Erik thought we should hold on to them so the girls could play dress up.”

Charles looked up at Erik. “That’s a wonderful idea, Erik. Thank you for thinking of it.”

 _‘Get out, Summers,’_ Erik wanted to say and almost did, only to be forestalled by Charles’s pleasant, “I hope you don’t mind, Alex, but as you couldn’t go with us, I took the liberty of buying you some clothes. I asked David to put them in your room.”

Alex shrugged. “Thanks, Professor.”

“I also noticed your car isn’t in the garage. Did you get the engine block fixed?”

Alex glanced at Erik before nodding. “Yeah. Erik helped me.”

“Splendid,” Charles said. “When you get time, I’d appreciate it if you’d look at the Cadillac’s front grill—let me know if we need any parts.”

“All right.” Alex gestured to the door. “I’ll go check out the clothes.”

“The receipt should be in the bag. If they’re not the right size, you can return them.”

Alex ducked his head. “Thanks.”

Erik waited until Alex was gone, then said, “You know he’s not…” He used air quotes. “‘…checking out the clothes.’”

“I know. He’s on his way to the garage.” Charles leaned over and looked inside another box. “You two are on better terms. I’m glad.”

“Since when do you know anything about engine blocks?”

Charles looked up. “Do you actually think I was born in a classroom, Erik?”

Charles’s tone was even but trimmed with something that almost sounded like bitterness. Erik stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and then leaned on the wheelchair’s armrests. “You know I don’t, Charles,” he said softly, wishing the door was closed and locked.

Charles tilted his head and smiled up into Erik’s eyes. “Aren’t you the famous Magneto, the mutant who can bend even the strongest metal to his will?”

Challenge thrown, challenge accepted, Erik slammed the door so hard it loosened the dust off the overhead light. Charles laughed and then grabbed Erik’s belt loops and tugged him close.

Under a fine powder of falling dust with Charles’s thumbs pressing into the hollows of Erik’s hips, they kissed and kissed.

It was probably going to get old, this feeling, like he was walking on air and swimming through honey. There’d come a day where this would be commonplace but not—

“Today,” Charles finished for Erik, whispering against his lips. “Never today.”

***

They left the room soon after, sneaking out as if they were burglars. Erik supposed they were, stealing time, stealing moments. “Charles?”

“Hm?”

“How would you fancy dinner out?”

“I’d love it. There’s a French restaurant, _Le Ferme,_ not far from here. They serve a paté that is out of this world.”

“Is it too late to get reservations?”

Charles paused, regret already altering his features. “The detective might stop by tonight, and then there are the children.”

“What about them?”

“I thought, since they had such a fright last night that we’d spend the evening together. I can make reservations for tomorrow, however.” Charles looked up at him soulfully, hopefully.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you?”

Charles’s soulful smile turned into a grin. “I can’t think what you mean.”

“Hmph,” Erik muttered, hiding his own smile as they started down the hall.

It was just as well. He was a little tired and still had a lot of cleaning to do if he wanted to move anytime soon. When they were at the restaurant, however, he’d make sure they ordered dessert so he could bring some home to Suzy. One time, his father had gone to a business meeting in Dortmund and he’d returned with stories of the beautiful city and a small piece of _versunkener apfelkuchen._ In retrospect, the cake had been nothing much, but it had come all the way from Dortmund—Erik could still remember how it had felt, opening that napkin-covered present. “All right. Tomorrow, it is.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed, adding with great relish, “date night.”

Startled, Erik snorted and tried not flush, anticipation curling uselessly in his stomach.

***

After a dinner of take-out Chinese with children still revved up from the shopping expedition, Erik retreated to Charles’s study, intent on giving Charles time with the children but really needing quiet.

He first sat at the desk and called Ken Garcia. Their conversation was a short exchange of pleasantries followed by an agreement to meet in October after Ken had finished hiring the new staff.

That done, Erik went to the bookshelves and put his finger on a spine at random— _The Common Sense of Science_. He examined its companions, not surprised to see more Bronowski. Trust Charles to have the works of a man famous for a television show examining the history of human kind.

He hesitated, then pulled the book out and went to the sofa. He doubted the text would hold his interest but he’d give it a go.

It was actually quite fascinating, more an effort to demystify science than anything else. The prose, however, wasn’t quite enough to engross him and he was on the second chapter, half asleep, when movement of the door opening and closing drew his attention. It was Suzy, rather moodily walking towards him. She was holding her new toy kitten and a boxed set of books that Charles had bought her earlier in the day.

He closed the book. “Done already?”

She didn’t answer as she dropped the books on the table and climbed up.

Without having to think about it, Erik tossed his book to the side and opened his arms. Suzy curled into him, head on his chest. “What’s all this, then?” he murmured, rubbing her sock-covered feet because she’d recently told him that her toes were always cold. She was wearing bell-bottoms that he thought were new and a sweatshirt that wasn’t. The latter was decorated with a patchwork rooster that had button eyes; one was dangling by a few threads. He’d ask Charles for a needle so he could fix it. “Are you all right?”

Still, Suzy didn’t answer and he stroked her hair. She needed to get it cut soon. Her fringe used to be neatly trimmed but now it was long enough to be a bother—she was forever pushing it to the side. Maybe he and Charles could take her to a salon. Danbury must have at least a couple. “Is your stomach bothering you?”

Suzy shook her head.

“Did Tessa say something mean to you?”

She shrugged, this time adding a little sigh.

At a loss, he wasn’t quite sure what to do, but just at that moment someone shut a door. The noise wasn’t particularly loud, but Suzy jerked as if she’d been struck. With his own inaudible sigh, Erik hugged her tighter. He knew what this was—Charles had expected it, why hadn’t he? “Did you know those men are gone?”

This time she spoke. “They are?”

“Hm, mm. Agent MacTaggert came and got them early this morning and took them to Washington D.C. They’re locked up in prison, a long ways away and they’re going to stay there for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Years and years. You’ll be grown up by the time they get out.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The professor made sure of it.”

“Tessa said that he said that they wanted to steal the money in the bank and that they’ll come back when it’s dark.”

It took him a moment to work out the pronouns. “What bank?”

“The bank the professor has in the basement. Tessa says he goes down there sometime when he thinks we’re not watching.”

Disturbed in spite of himself, he pushed her fringe off her forehead. “That’s just the bomb shelter, sweetheart. You’ve been down there. There’s no bank. The professor keeps his money in several banks in New York.”

She leaned back to look up at him, as if trying to ascertain if he was lying to her. After a moment, she shrugged and settled back against him. “He says it’s okay to be afraid.”

“The professor?”

Suzy nodded. “When I said that Tessa said that only babies are afraid of the dark, he said everyone is afraid of something.”

“That’s true.”

She leaned back again. “Are you afraid of the dark, too?”

Before he could think it through, he replied, “No. I’m afraid of the light.”

Suzy lost some of her grumpiness as she frowned up at him. “The light? How can anyone be afraid of _that_?”

He shifted, settling her more comfortably. “I don’t know. I just am.”

He hoped she’d leave it at that but she was curious and smart and immediately responded, “That doesn’t make sense.”

He thought of how to explain, only coming up with, “I guess it’s because something happened to me when I was a little older than you. And,” he said as she drew breath to ask the next question, “no, I’m not going to tell you what it was, just that it was bad.”

It was somehow the wrong thing to say and her face scrunched up, just like that time in the gazebo.

Damn it. He had two choices—he could refuse to say more and save himself the fugitive pain while letting her already vivid imagination go to town, or he could find some way to give her the gist without the details. So, a choice that was no real choice and he kissed her forehead and said, “All right, I’ll tell you, but it’s going to seem silly.” Some of the fear left her face and he went on, “You see, when I was a little older than you, I was sick. I had to go to this doctor and his office was filled with big, bright lights. They scared me so now I don’t like bright lights.”

“Wasn’t your mommy with you?”

It was a logical question, one any child would ask. It was also unexpected and a sharp pain lanced through Erik’s chest. Images pushed against the surface of his mind. He ignored them, focusing only on the little girl in front of him and not Shaw smiling as the gun went off, smiling as he spread Erik open with stainless steel hooks tha—

_‘Erik?’_

It was Charles, his voice low and clear as if he were standing a foot away. For a second there was the pressure of a hushed nothing, and then Erik felt a cool, sweet wave wash over his mind and face.

_‘I’m here. I’m right here if you need me.’_

That was all it was, a hiccup of a moment, short enough that Suzy wasn’t the wiser. But Charles had given him time to regroup and he was able to calmly respond, _‘I’m fine, but thank you,’_ and then add out loud, “My mother couldn’t stay with me, unfortunately. She had to wait in another room.”

“She must have been mad at that mean doctor.”

“I suppose she was. And, that’s enough of that.” He leaned forward and picked up the box of books. “Did the professor buy these for you?”

Suzy shook her head. “No, Hank did. He told me they’re really good.”

“All right,” Erik said, getting out the first book. “ _‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,’_ ” he read. “Do you want first go?”

“No.” Suzy pushed the book towards him and hugged the kitten. “You.”

***

He was only a few pages along when Jean and David joined them. Without a word, they found seats on the floor. They were followed by Tessa, Dani, and Douglas. Eventually, all the students—Alex included—surrounded Erik, listening as he read about the adventures of four young children in a mythical land called Narnia.

Three chapters in, he was looking for a good stopping point when the door opened again and Charles rolled in. He was holding a stack of books, a pile of clothes and a small pair of shoes. When he saw Erik and the children, he smiled.

_Don’t look at me like that Charles, not when I can’t do anything about it._

Whether or not Charles heard was anyone’s guess but he called out, “I hate to interrupt at such an exciting moment, but it’s almost nine and you need to be in bed soon. You’ve all had a very busy day. Suzy…” Charles held up the shoes. “These, I believe, are yours.”

Charles’s announcement was met with the usual complaints. Suzy was almost asleep as were most of the others but they still managed to moan and groan as if it were four in the afternoon.

Jean pushed to her feet. “That was fun. Can you read more tomorrow night?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, shooting a quick look at Charles, “I’m going to be busy tomorrow night.” He got up, still holding Suzy. “But Sunday night is yours, if you want.”

“Maybe it can be a regular thing,” Jean said. “You reading to us, I mean. You’re good with the voices.”

“Even the girls,” Tessa added, as if puzzled how such a thing could be.

“Thank you,” he said, hiding a grin as he paused by Charles’s side and reached for Suzy’s shoes. Together, they led the kids down the hall.

Alex had picked up Jordon and he said over the boy’s head, “Did you ever read _Watership Down?”_

Erik shifted Suzy to his other hip so he could walk a little closer to Charles. “I didn’t. I read about it in the papers, though. It won a few awards, yes?”

Alex shrugged. “I don’t know. It was really good, though. The kids might like it when you’re done with the Narnia books.”

“I take it you’ve read them? The C.S. Lewis books?”

“Yeah,” Alex said slowly, glancing down at Jordan. “I read the first two when I was a kid.”

 _‘While I was in prison,’_ Alex might well have said. Erik met Charles’s gaze. “The writing is very good,” Erik said. “I’m sure Suzy wouldn’t mind if you borrowed the ones you haven’t read.”

Suzy made a sleepy objection as Alex shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll wait.” They were at the stairs now and Alex started up, muttering, “Darwin really liked them,” without turning around.

Charles touched Erik’s hand and then jerked his head, asking silently, _‘Follow him, help him.’_ Aloud, he called out, “Good night everyone.”

The children were half way up and they returned with muted _‘good nights.’_

“I’ll be down in a bit,” Erik said.

Charles nodded. “I’ll check the back door—can you get the front?”

“Of course.”

***

Erik caught up to Alex outside Jordan and Douglas’s room. “Will you wait for me? I have a favor to ask,” he said, a spur-of-the-moment idea falling into place.

“Sure.”

Erik went to Suzy’s room. Tessa was already in bed engrossed in a Nancy Drew mystery.

“Did you brush your teeth?” he asked Tessa as he set Suzy down.

“Hm, mm,” Tessa nodded, giving him only a bit of her attention.

“Did you brush your hair a hundred times?”

Both girls looked up at him, but it was Tessa that asked, “Why would I do that?”

He shrugged and tossed Suzy’s stuffed toy on the bed and her shoes near the foot of the bed. “I have no idea, but my mother did it every night. She said it made her hair prettier.”

The girls hesitated and then as one, ran for the bathroom. He trailed after, afraid he’d started a mini war, but they each had brushes and were in front of the mirror—Suzy on a step stool—brushing away. “Only ten more minutes, yes?” he cautioned, not surprised when neither of them answered but a little surprised that his casual mention of his mother hadn’t made his chest hurt.

He found Alex waiting in the hall, metaphorically kicking his heels. “Thanks for waiting.”

Alex shrugged. “It’s not like I’m doing anything.”

“Speaking of,” Erik said, turning towards his room, “I was hoping you could take a look at my car. I think it’s burning oil.”

“Sure,” Alex said, his face brightening. “I’m going to start on the Cadillac in the morning but, yeah, I can do it.”

He opened his door and gestured for his car keys—they flew to him with a soft woosh. “I’ll pay you for your time.”

“That’s okay.”

“No,” Eric said, handing Alex the keys. “You’re saving me a trip into town; that’s worth something.”

Alex took the keys and shrugged again. “Okay. Thanks. I have to go to my parents on Sunday. Will Monday be okay?”

“Yes.” Erik hesitated, then said, “Is your brother okay?”

Alex’s expression darkened. “No. His eyes have been bothering him again. Guess he’s not the only freak in the family.”

“You’re not a freak, Alex.” When Alex didn’t respond, Erik added, “You’re not. You’re just different.”

“Yeah, ‘different,’” Alex said, as if cursing. “Anyway, Scott’s not doing so well so I’m gonna go see him.”

“Why don’t you just bring him here? Charles could help him, I’m sure.”

If anything, that made things worse and Alex muttered, “My parents won’t let him.”

“Why on earth not?”

Alex glanced to the side and then the ground. “They think the professor—” He flushed and gestured. “You know—”

Erik frowned and then didn’t as Alex’s meaning became clear. “I see,” he said, hearing the ice in his own voice.

“They’re just stupid,” Alex said. “Our pastor keeps telling them that I’m cursed, that it’s weird that Charles lives with a bunch of kids. And then they found out about me and Armando—” Alex stuttered to a halt, and looked up, his eyes wide as if expecting a blow.

“It’s all right,” Erik said as smoothly as possible. “I know.”

“You do? How?” Alex looked off to the side. “Did the professor tell you?”

“No,” he said, feeling for the right words. “I figured it out today.”

That assuaged some of Alex’s embarrassed anger and he nodded. “Oh.”

Erik picked his words as delicately as he had with Suzy, “You have to know the knowledge doesn’t change how Charles feels about you, right?”

Alex looked up at him, judging, measuring, and then he nodded, his anger truly fading. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, I asked them to bring Scotty here, but they won’t.”

“Maybe in a few years.”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” He turned to go but Erik called him back.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Your parents—they’re not stupid or venal, they’re just out of their depth. I imagine like most parents, they want what’s best for you and your brother but they no longer know what that is. They’re grasping at straws, hoping to find someone else to blame for what they see are deficiencies within themselves.”

Alex tipped his head, thinking about that. “I get that, but if they would just listen to me—” He gestured, a sharp chop as if that said everything.

Erik gave him a wry smile. “But then they wouldn’t be your parents.”

Surprisingly, Alex smiled back. “I guess so.”

***

Erik thought about Alex’s parents as he washed his face and teeth.

When he was no more than a toddler, he found he could move metal, usually the locket around his mother’s neck. His mother had praised his innate talent and called him a gift from God. His father, however, had worried. Erik had overheard them many times: What would the neighbors think? What would the new minister say, the one that kept insisting that the NSDAP was harmless and would honor any agreements?

With his recent conversation with Alex in mind, Erik wondered what his parents would have thought about his circumstances, about Charles. Would the one abnormality make the other less palatable or more? Would they have accepted Charles or shown them both the door?

He couldn’t quite decide and he left his room and padded down the empty hall, still pondering the unanswerable question. “Where are you?” he whispered, hoping his mental query was just as clear.

 _‘In my room,’_ came the immediate response. _‘My real room.’_

“Where’s Hank?”

_‘I believe he’s in the Jean Room. We decided the children need to be able to escape their rooms should the need arise. He’s rigging up a prototype expandable ladder.’_

Erik raised an eyebrow. “That’s a good idea but aren’t you afraid they’ll use the ladders to sneak out?”

_‘Hank suggested the same thing. Each device will have a sensor that links to his room. To be honest, I don’t much care—I’d rather them safe than trapped.’_

“Agreed.”

_‘Erik?’_

“Yes?”

_‘I know we’re going out tomorrow night but I was hop—’_

_‘Yes,’_ he said silently, cutting Charles off. _‘I’ll be there in a moment.’_

The only response he got was a burst of warmth that flared along his nerves. Good mood restored, he went downstairs and made sure the front door was locked with a wave of his hand, then turned to the back of the house, walking faster now.

***

When he got to Charles’s suite, he locked the door and went into the bedroom. Charles was already in bed with a book and tea. He was wearing pajamas. They were a dark blue silk with sky blue piping, but still, they were pajamas.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, putting the tea down and patting the bedcovers. “Not what you were expecting, was it?”

He sat down and took Charles’s hand. Yes, he’d been hoping for a naked Charles but this was good, too. “You’re tired.”

Charles rubbed Erik’s wrist. “So are you.”

“It’s been a long day.” And, he realized, it truly was. First the late night with Charles and then Alex and cleaning the room next door—the idea of sex right now seemed impossible.

“Then, here…” Charles said, situating himself, making room for Erik. “You’ll have to sleep on the other side so I can…” He nodded to the empty wheelchair. “You know.”

Erik stood and pulled off his jumper. “I’ll need to leave before the children get up.”

“I know. I’ll make sure you’re back to your room before you turn into a pumpkin.”

He smirked and began to strip down to his undershorts, making a show of it for Charles. His efforts were appreciated if the red on Charles’s cheeks were any indication.

Charles cleared his throat. “Do you want pajamas?”

“I don’t wear them. Besides,” he added as he climbed over Charles and got under the covers. “Yours won’t fit.” He turned on his side and slipped an arm over Charles’s chest. So good, being here with Charles. “Too short.”

“Oh.”

“There’s a lot we don’t know about each other, isn’t there?” he asked gently, leaning in to give Charles a quick kiss.

Charles hummed a reply and then said in a wistful voice, “It _is_ odd. I know all about your childhood and how hard it was when you were on your own hunting Shaw. But I don’t know what your favorite color is. I didn’t know you don’t wear pajamas.”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? There’s still more to learn?” Erik said, running his hand over the silk, feeling the contours of Charles’s chest. “There’s still so much I don’t know about you, too.”

“Such as?”

“ _Your_ favorite color.”

Charles snorted, wistfulness gone. He stroked Erik’s arm. “That’s easy, I—” He stopped and tilted his head. “I’m not sure that I _have_ one. I’ve never thought about it.”

“How can you not know what your favorite color is?”

Charles turned his head. “All right, what’s yours?”

“Sky blue—the color of your eyes.”

“Oh, please.” Charles laughed, a soft sound that verged on a snicker.

Erik had been joking, but now he wondered and he pushed up on one elbow to look down. “It’s true,” he murmured, examining Charles’s eyes, the varying shades of each pupil, how they seemed blue but really weren’t.

“Stop it,” Charles said, pushing Erik back a little. “I’m nothing much to look at, not like you.”

“So that’s another thing,” Erik mused, stroking the edge of Charles’s beard.

“What other thing?”

“That I didn’t know you are completely oblivious about your own looks.”

Charles was gazing at him now, chagrin turning to a shamed half-frown. “I didn’t use to be. I used to think I was something special but that was until…”

Until that day, until Cuba, until Erik’s recklessness had changed everything. He wanted to apologize once more but nothing he said would fix bone and tissue and past pain, so he leaned down and kissed Charles, having no other remedy but that.

***

Erik slept but only shallowly. When Charles jerked and then stirred, he whispered, “What is it?”

Charles threw the covers back. “Jean. She’s having a nightmare.”

“We need to move her into the room.”

“It’s not finished yet.” Charles began the task of moving his legs over the side of the bed.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, stay here. I won’t be long.”

If Charles didn’t want him to go, at least he could help in his own way and he flicked his fingers, calling the wheelchair closer to the bed.

“Ah,” Charles said softly, pulling on his robe. “I knew there was a reason I’m sleeping with you.”

“One time hardly constitutes, ‘I am.’”

Charles slid into the chair. “When I get back, I’ll see if I can rectify that sad state of affairs.”

Erik shut his eyes and smiled pleasantly. “When you get back, I’ll be asleep.”

“Ha, ha.”

He opened the sitting room door with another wave and got a soft, “Thank you.” As soon as Charles was gone, he closed the door again.

Still smiling, he ran his hand over the warm length left by Charles’s body. No matter what hadn’t happened tonight, he was in Charles’s bed. It spoke of a kind of intimacy he’d never expected or imagined. Once he got his new room fixed up, he was going to spend all his nights here.

He was still thinking on that new goal when, try as he might, he fell asleep.

***

He woke again when Charles returned. He grumbled about Charles’s cold feet and hands. Charles just smiled tiredly. They settled down together, Charles on his back, Erik draped over him. “How is she?” he asked, eyes once more closed.

There was a moment of silence and then Charles whispered, “Fine. She’s fine.”

***

It was just a dinner date—two people sitting on opposite sides of a table, conversing while they ate. Couples did it all the time. So did friends and families. That was all it was, and no reason for the minor freak-out.

Erik leaned towards the mirror to examine his face for the third or fourth time.

He’d already changed clothes twice. His first choices had been suits that seemed too stuffy and formal once he saw himself in the mirror. His next option had been a black turtleneck with slacks and a houndstooth jacket that all of a sudden seemed _too_ informal, clothes he’d worn a handful of times. He knew Charles wouldn’t care. Charles cared more about the quality the dinner conversation than his companion’s clothing. He could be wearing blue jeans and Charles wouldn’t even notice. Maybe he should. He still had time for one mor—

A knock on the door interrupted Erik’s freak-out. The knock was followed by several more, each louder than the last. Cursing softly, he opened the door with a mental tug.

It was Suzy and Tessa, whispering to each other, shoving each other.

“Yes?” he said, not really in the mood for games.

Suzy ran in and grabbed his hand and pulled. “Come on,” she said as Tessa followed suit. “Come on!”

Erik resisted for only a second, then gave in and let them drag him out of the room. “What’s the rush?” Yes, Charles had seen these clothes a couple times, but so what? It was only dinner and he wasn’t a teenage girl to be so worried over an outfit. “What’s going on?”

“You gotta see this,” Tessa said, dancing by his side with excitement.

Suzy nodded. “He doesn’t even look like him.”

“Yes, he does,” Tessa insisted, glaring around Erik’s legs.

“No, he doesn’t!” Suzy shot back. “He looks brand new.”

“Ladies,” Erik tried, “what are you talking about?” They were on the stairs now. “Do we have a visitor?” Hopefully, it wasn’t another Danbury detective—he and Charles had sat down with a very young investigator only that morning and had answered one inane question after another. He’d assumed they were done with that nonsense, at least for a while.

The girls’ response was a confusion of argument, contradiction and insistence. They were still going at it when they got downstairs.

“See.” Tessa said, pulling Erik’s hand, turning him around and then she and Suzy took off, running towards Charles’s office.

Obediently, Erik looked and then again, doing an actual double take. There, down the hall in his portable chair sat Charles. He was dressed in a lovely dark suit, and yes, Erik had to silently agree with Suzy—Charles looked different enough to be brand new. It wasn’t his new blue shirt or smart new tie—it was his face. He’d shaved off his beard and mustache and even though he hadn’t trimmed his hair, it had been over ten years since Erik had seen this Charles. The memories flooded in, leaving him speechless.

As for Charles, the children were circling him as if he were an oddity and though he kept chatting with them, he peered at Erik as if to say, _‘Yes, it really is me.’_

“Hey,” came a voice at Erik’s elbow; he had to make himself look away. It was Alex, wiping his hands on an old rag.

“Hello,” Erik replied stupidly.

“I was working on the Cadillac,” Alex said. “I think I fixed it, but I’m not sure. You should take the Bentley but there’s only a quarter tank of gas. Where are you guys going?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He couldn’t actually remember and he was frowning, feeling like a complete fool when Charles saved the day. He came up silently and answered, “We’ve reservations at _Le Ferme_.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. It’s that fancy place about ten miles from here? You should be fine, but if you’re not, just…” He tapped his forehead and grinned.

“Understood,” Charles said, glancing up at Erik. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“We won’t be long.” Charles turned the chair in a circle to address the children: “Mind Alex and Hank. There’s ice cream in the fridge, but only one scoop each, yes?”

The kids answered and then Charles nodded towards the garage. “Shall we be off?”

Equilibrium regained, Erik touched the back of Charles’s chair. “Lead the way.”

***

Though navigating the wheelchair proved a little challenging, the restaurant itself was charming. Set in an old farmhouse, it gleamed gold with soft, romantic lighting that reflected off the crystal and table settings. The host knew Charles, or rather, the Xavier name, and gave them a table near the windows where they had the illusion of privacy. When the sommelier came by, Charles picked a rosé that he wanted Erik to try. After that it was the waiter asking about appetizers. Finally, they were alone. A few seconds of awkward silence threatened the moment and their eyes met; they smiled. In that second, the awkwardness was gone, leaving just the two of them, just Erik and Charles.

Always the chattier one, Charles was in rare form, talking first about their visit from the Westchester detective and then about the Jean Room and Hank’s latest creation, an engine the size of a small tank. He moved on to the children and how remarkable they all were, especially Jean. She was his favorite though he really shouldn’t say that because it wasn’t fair. But it was hard because she was such a remarkable girl and her gift was so exciting but also a puzzle because he felt her mutation was still in flux and what that meant for the rest of them was extraordinary. When he and Hank found the time, they needed to research the possibility that their mutations were all evolving because the ramifications made his head spin. Take himself for example—two years ago, the furthest he could hear someone was maybe a mile. Now, it was much further. Were his own abilities changing and expanding?

Erik tried to keep up, answering with soft ‘ _yes’s_ ’ and _no’s_ ’ and _‘oh, really’s?’_ But he kept getting distracted because Charles had never looked more beautiful. Eyes reflecting the soft light, smile bright and engaging, Charles drew Erik as if he was a magnet and Erik weak iron. Even the surrounding diners were affected. A woman at the table next to the door kept glancing over at Charles, her interest unmistakable. Charles, of course, didn’t notice as he switched gears to their latest lost duckling.

It was all too much, being this close and unable to touch, and sometime after the delivery of their appetizer, Erik threw in the towel.

“…but we must find a way to retrieve Petra. Moira has looked for her since, but the girl can’t be found.” Charles picked up a stuffed mushroom and shook his head regretfully. “She must have moved on. I should have never given up on her. I’ll call—”

“Charles?”

“Moira on Monday but it’s more than likely—” Charles looked up. “Yes?”

“Are you really hungry?”

In a heartbeat Charles’s expression changed, going from lively interest to quiet intensity. He dropped his mushroom and then straightened up, saying evenly, “No, I don’t suppose I am.” He wiped his fingers with his napkin.

‘Shall we take it with us?”

Without answering, Charles signaled to the waiter and got out his wallet. When the man came up, Charles said apologetically, “I’m afraid that I’m suddenly unwell. Would it be possible to get our meal to go?”

The waiter frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” He looked doubtfully at Charles’s plate.

“It wasn’t the mushrooms,” Charles reassured. “I was feeling poorly earlier today. Truly.”

Clearly relieved, the waiter got his notepad from his apron pocket. “I’ll ask the kitchen to bag your dinner. I’ll be right back with your bill.”

“Is it less than a hundred?”

The man glanced down at his pad in confusion. “Quite a bit?”

Charles tucked a hundred dollar bill under the rim of his plate. “For your trouble.”

The waiter gaped. “Are you sure?” he said, glancing over at Erik.

Erik shrugged, saying silently, _‘Just go with it.’_

“I am,” Charles assured the waiter. “And since I have to go the roundabout way, I’ll be off.”

Erik rose and went around to pull a chair out of Charles’s way. “I’ll help.”

The waiter stepped back, obviously still in shock. “I’ll meet you in front.”

Charles smiled and reached for the chair’s wheels, accidently brushing Erik’s thigh. “Thank you.”

Erik’s heart had jumped at Charles’s brief touch and he told himself almost grimly, _Thirty minutes. You can manage another thirty minutes.’_

***

If Erik thought the cool September air would dampen his desire, he was wrong. The chill actually seemed to heighten it, and as he drove north on the very narrow Bedford Road he had to concentrate, afraid he might wreck another of Charles’s automobiles.

Charles, it seemed, was doing no better—as soon as they got in the car, he lost his smile and vivacity and was almost huddled against the door.

And that would have been all right. _Erik_ would have been all right, if he hadn’t taken a curve much too fast, the car skidding and sliding onto the dirt shoulder.

“Erik.” Charles said.

“I know, Charles,” he muttered, pulling back onto the road. “I’m sorry. I won’t—”

“No, Erik, here.”

He looked over. Charles was watching him; anyone else would think him angry. “Are you su—”

“The house is too crowded,” Charles interrupted roughly. “Anywhere is good.”

Even then Erik would have cautioned reason and discretion, pointing out that eleven people in a house the size of the mansion was hardly ‘crowded,’ but just then, Charles clenched his fists, a slight, restrained movement that said everything. Erik’s heart practically stopped and then he nodded and began looking for ‘anywhere.’

He found a spot a minute later, just an unused road with an ivy-covered metal gate. By the looks of the growth blocking the gate, no one had been here in a very long time. He flicked his fingers, opening the gate with too much force, slamming it into a tree.

Charles made a sound deep in his throat and began to unfasten his tie.

“Christ, Charles,” Erik muttered, coming to a halt amid the brambles and weeds. He cut the lights and darkness fell. Among the trees, hidden from the moon and the rest of the world, restraint fell as well and he turned to Charles. “There’s not much room up here. Can you get in the back?”

Without a word, Charles ripped off his coat and then hauled himself up and over the seat, landing in an ungainly lump. He started to snicker, a low, sexy sound that raised the hair on the nape of Erik’s neck.

Almost tripping in his haste, Erik jumped out of the car and then slid in beside Charles. He reached for Charles’s hands, pushing them out of the way. “Stop it,” he ordered softly. “Stop. That’s my job.”

Charles smiled and obeyed, stretching his arms out, leaning back.

“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” Erik muttered, fumbling for the buttons on Charles’s shirt, struggling because Charles wouldn’t keep his hands to himself, stroking the back of Erik’s head and neck, slipping hot fingers under his turtleneck.

“Charles,” Erik whispered, giving up on the cuffs. He spread the shirt open so he could rest against Charles’s chest for just a moment, his cheek cushioned by Charles’s tie. Charles wasn’t wearing an undershirt and Erik could hear his heart, almost feel the blood running in his veins. He was like living champagne, was Charles, almost shivering as he pressed up into Erik, his wildness a charge and a delight. Who would have thought, Erik mused, eyes closed, listening to Charles’s sighs from inside and out, who would’ve thought that staid, play-by-the rules Charles Franc—

Charles sighed. “Want you.”

Erik nudged Charles’s tie out of the way so he could kiss the center of his breast. “How? How do you want me?”

“Any way.” Charles whispered roughly, urging Erik’s head down. “All the ways.”

Mind awash with fleeting images, Erik rooted around until he found a nipple. He bit, his mouth watering.

Charles hissed and arched up. “Uh…”

Erik closed his eyes. He wanted this so much but it would be easier at home in a bed. There would be more room and they could make adjustments, take precautions…

“It’s okay,” Charles whispered. “Look in my pocket.”

He frowned and reached inside Charles’s trouser pocket. Both of them drew a quick breath when his fingers touched Charles’s cloth-covered cock before finding smooth metal. He pulled whatever it was out and held it up—it was a slim tin of petroleum jelly. “That wasn’t quite what I meant, but seriously?”

Charles’s grin didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Seriously. I’ve been carrying that thing around with me for three days.”

Still…“It won’t work. There isn’t room.”

Charles ran his hands down Erik’s back, his gaze clear and oddly sympathetic. “Yes, there is.” As if to prove his point, he slid sideways to rest at an angle against the door and seat.

“It won’t hurt you?” Erik hedged, glancing down at Charles’s waist.

Charles’s smile was crooked. “You mean, anymore? No, but you’ll have to help me.” And then, his voice low, he added, “I know you want this, Erik. I’ve always known.”

Caution destroyed by a wave of heady desire, Erik gave in and gave up. He stripped off what was necessary and turned to Charles. Impatient, he only pulled Charles’s undershorts and trousers down to his knees, leaving the rest. Charles didn’t speak while Erik worked, only watched with half-closed eyes as he rubbed his own chest. That lazy, appreciative stare, the tie that still circled Charles’s throat, making him look like a debauched fresher… It all only increased the rising tide of lust and when Erik straddled Charles’s hips he was almost panting.

With a careless gesture that sent the lid spinning off to the front somewhere, he opened the tin of petroleum jelly. Charles grinned and then didn’t when Erik touched his cock with slick fingers.

“Oh,” Charles sighed, tipping his head back, fumbling for the door handle and the seat back. “Yes. That feels so good.”

“It better,” Erik whispered. He slicked Charles’s cock up, loving the sleek hardness of it, picturing what it would be like going down on Charles, the taste and feel. _‘Wait until we’re in a proper bed, then I’ll show you…’_

Charles moaned and covered Erik hands with his own, forcing Erik’s grip only to let go to run his hands down Erik’s chest and belly. Down and down and then Charles was touching his cock with just his fingertips.

Erik bowed his head, squinting, almost afraid to look because it would set him off, the sight of Charles’s fingers on his cock and—

—and too late. With a sharp spasm that sent a streak of fire up his spine, Erik came, spilling onto Charles’s belly, apologizing angrily, immediately. “Damn it,” he snarled softly, struggling to stay upright. “Sorry, sorry, _damn it._ …”

Charles breathed a laugh and stroked Erik’s thighs. “Why? It was beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Erik.” He leaned up to kiss Erik’s chest, mumbling into his skin, “It’s a good thing we never did this before.” Another kiss. “Because I would never have been able to think of anything but you. I would never have been able to keep my hands off—”

“Charles?” Erik said slowly, the effort to speak harder than it should be. “Will you please shut up and fuck me.”

This time Charles laughed outright, a joyous sound that echoed in the narrow space. Without another word, he found the tin and then took a deep breath and carefully slipped his hand between Erik’s thighs.

Years, it had been years, and he didn’t know if it was Charles’s thought or his own, focused only on the feeling of Charles’s slick fingers, the intrusion that should hurt but didn’t quite and could Charles feel any of this, this incredible sense of—

_‘I do. I do, Erik. You feel like heaven. Here, help me—_

—and he was no longer in his own head but in both, a double vision of himself and Charles as he found his place, found Charles’s cock and lowered and—

_…once more gone and here, both at the same time as reality skews and settles, lost to everything but Charles. He sees his own face through Charles’s eyes, the shock of it because he’s also looking down at Charles’s face, head tipped back, and if he ever fantasized about fucking himself while fucking Charles this was the moment and he settles, taking in more of Charles._

_Charles groans and then bites his lip and closes his eyes. Erik is sure he’s never seen anything so lovely. He rises, or tries to, reaching for Charles’s hair to card his fingers through the thick strands just so he can hold and pull, a tandem movement to the rhythm he can’t seem to find. This angle is wrong, his knees and shins keep catching on the leather but there’s no way in hell he’s going to stop, not ever, not with Charles inside, filling up all his emptiness, filling up his wrongs and rights and…_

_…and suddenly he’s no longer in the grey-blue night but drowning in the bright gold of afternoon. He’s on his back in Charles’s bed, his legs wrapped around Charles’s waist._

_Charles smiles down at him, white teeth bared like a wolf as he pulls Erik’s leg over his shoulder. He kisses the inside of Erik’s knee and then begins to thrust and push, muttering something that sounds like…_

…nothing because Erik was back out again in the cold dark, as Charles came with a sharp cry.

He fell against Charles, surprised to find that he’d come as well, a pale imitation of the first.

“Oh, God, Erik,” Charles panted. “Oh, God.”

He nodded against Charles’s damp cheek, trying to catch his breath, his knees and thighs aching but not really caring because he was so brilliantly happy.

Charles stroked Erik’s back. “Me too, Erik—unbelievably, totally, brilliantly happy.”

They stayed there, squashed against each other while their breath steadied and it was probably only a few seconds before Erik realized that he was cold and his knees and head hurt. “Ouch?” he whispered uncertainly, touching the top of his head.

Charles kissed Erik’s shoulder. “You don’t remember that?”

“Remember what?”

“You hit your head on the roof.” Charles moved, pushing Erik back a little. “You truly don’t remember?” Charles tugged him down, craning his neck. “Here, let me see…” He ran his hand over Erik’s skull. “You’ve a slight contusion but I don’t think it’s all that bad.”

“How would you know? You’re not the one that hit your head.”

Charles grinned and pushed Erik back even more to peer up at him. “You’re right. Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Charles.”

Charles’s grin faded. “All right,” he said, placing a palm on Erik’s chest. “All right.”

With only a few inches separating them, Erik stared down at Charles. It was dark, but he thought he could see the line of pale skin where Charles’s beard had been, the demarcation between the old and new. “Eleven years,” he murmured. “Was it worth the wait?”

Charles shook his head. “You have no idea.”

Erik brushed Charles’s tangled hair off his face. “Did I hurt you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question?”

Yes. “No. And if you did,” he added, shifting, unable to help the slight wince, “I don’t care. I’ve had worse.”

Charles’s calm expression broke just a little. “I know you have.”

Not wanting sadness, Erik kissed Charles, then rocked back and dropped onto the seat. He winced again, hoping it was too dark for Charles to see. “We’re a mess; don’t move.” He fished around for his trousers and got his handkerchief. He cleaned up what he could. “This is why I wanted to find a proper bed.”

Charles covered his hand. “I don’t care.”

Erik smiled and stuffed the handkerchief back in his trousers. “I know you don’t and,” he added, sliding sideways so he could help Charles straighten up, “whoever decided that leather was a good material for car seats needs to be shot. My knees are going to have burn marks on them.” There was also a mark on his breast, not from the leather but from Charles’s sharp teeth; he touched it and smiled.

Charles pulled his underwear up. “I imagine the engineers had other things in mind when they created this car.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Erik leaned over to help Charles with his trousers. “They knew exactly what people would be doing in the back of their automobiles—lift up if you can—when they designed them.” He set Charles to rights. “Why else make them so huge?”

Charles zipped his fly. “Pure American excess?”

Erik began to dress. “This is a British car.”

“Pure British snobbery? ”

Erik smiled and pulled on his turtleneck. “You said it, not me.”

Charles began to button his shirt, then made a face. He loosened his tie and took it off and stuffed it in his pocket. “I’ll see about getting the seats re-upholstered, though I think making love in this car is out for a while.”

Busy with his trousers, Erik asked, “Where will we make love, then?”

“In my bed, in your bed. On the kitchen table, on the living room sofa—our options are endless.”

Erik stilled. Charles had just fucked him. The possibility, once an ill-defined fantasy, was now a reality, one that could happen again and again… “And the children?”

Charles was peering down, trying to make his shirt buttons match the right buttonholes. He hesitated and looked up. “I realize it will be difficult, but we’ll find the time, yes?”

“We’ll find the time. I promise.”

Charles smiled and they both finished dressing.

“If we’re hard up,” Erik added absently, still thinking on places and opportunities while he looked for his jacket, “we’ll sneak down to your bank. I’m sure it’s private enough.”

Charles paused. “My what?”

“Suzy told me you have a bank in the basement.” He smiled at the memory. “Apparently, the children think you keep money down there. I told her she was wrong, of course.” There was no answer and he looked over. Charles was staring at him, his happy expression gone slightly grim and tinged with guilt. Erik’s smile died. “What is it?”

“I—” Charles looked down. “Yes. I meant to tell you earlier but there was never time.”

Whatever Charles was feeling wasn’t showing on his face anymore and Erik remembered this Charles of months ago—distant, secretive. Uncertain anger replaced curiosity and he asked again, his voice now cautious, “What is it?”

Charles’s mouth firmed. “I think it’s better if I show you.”

Somehow that even-tempered stubbornness so unique to Charles intensified Erik’s anger. “No. You’ll tell me now. What have you done, Charles?”

“It’s best I show you,” Charles repeated quietly, folding his hands together.

So yes, this again, Charles on the inside, himself on the outside. “Charles.” When Charles didn’t answer, Erik added shortly, “All right,” wondering if he had it in him to force it out of Charles. Probably not, he decided as he slicked back his hair, his hands smelling of sex, of Charles. “Do you want to get in the front?”

“I’m fine here,” Charles replied, as if Erik had asked him how the weather was.

Without another word, Erik got out of the car and then got back in the driver’s seat. He slammed the doors shut and started the engine, both with a wave of his hand.

Not care much if he hit anything, he backed out of the lane, almost happy when he scraped up against the rusty gate. He waited for exclamations and condemnations from the back seat but all he got was a frustrated sigh.

***

The trip back was silent and tense, filled with the things Erik wasn’t going to say and that Charles apparently wouldn’t. Erik had only driven a few minutes when his anger cooled and reformed to a grey dread. What was Charles keeping in the subterranean lower floors? What could be so horrible and so secret that he couldn’t just come out and _say_ it?

He tried to reach out to Charles, a tentative mental inquiry made pointless by the rock-hard wall he met that had to be Charles’s unresponsive mind.

When they pulled into the garage, it was past ten. Erik wordlessly helped Charles out and Charles wordlessly accepted assistance. Into the dark house they went, across the empty halls to the lift. They got inside, the closeness of the small space now uncomfortable for a very different reason.

“Well?” Erik asked when Charles made no move.

Charles hesitated, then got out his keyring. Choosing a small, slim key, he opened the metal panel under the call buttons. Erik had always assumed that the panel hid the usual emergency controls. More fool him because inside was another row of call buttons marked B1 and B2. Charles pressed B2 and then closed the panel again. The lift jerked, then dropped.

They descended, past the basement and the bomb shelter until the lift rattled to a stop.

Charles gestured and Erik stepped out.

He looked around. Expecting a sinister world of unlit hallways and tiny rooms, he was shocked to find himself in a clean, ultra-modern corridor that lit up as Charles wheeled by. Erik touched one of the blue walls. It hummed under his hand, as did the panels under his feet. The material was metal, but what kind, he wasn’t certain. Alloy or foreign, he’d never felt its like before and he followed Charles, fingertips stroking the wall.

The corridor was segmented by big doors; at the end was a massive, circular portal marked by the letter X. Erik’s dread and anger increased. What the hell was behind that door?

Charles, however, paused halfway down and then looked back. He waited until Erik was by his side, then put his palm on a panel next to the door. The door opened with a smooth hiss. He wheeled in. Erik followed.

Again, it was a surprise for it was just an enormous room with lights that sprang to life as soon as Charles crossed the threshold. There wasn’t much to see. Construction materials were piled against the wall to the left. On the right were three metal doors at least six meters high, the kind one would find in an airport hanger or garage.

“What is this?” Erik asked.

“See for yourself,” Charles replied, gesturing sharply towards the massive doors.

Giving Charles a look from the side of his eye, Erik raised the middle door.

At first he wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. The overhead lights didn’t reach into the depths of the bay and all he could see was a jumble of long columns. Not columns, he realized as he moved closer, shock tightening his belly.

His sentinels.

His sentinels were here, a mass of useless limbs and blank eyes that stared at nothing and no one.

“Why?” he whispered, unable to look away from the grotesque sight, the memories of that time flooding back: his cold rage at the human’s interference, the angry disappointment that Charles could never _understand,_ feeling as if he and Charles were once more on opposite sides of a divide too deep to cross. Just like always, just like now. _“Why?”_

Charles came up behind him. “Because I couldn’t allow the government to keep them. It was one of the handful of times that I used my power on them.”

“You thought they’d use them against us? Against me?”

“Yes.”

Charles’s tone was too neutral, too still, and Erik turned. Charles was looking away, his gaze as empty as the sentinel’s. “You’re lying,” Erik said slowly, searching for the thing that Charles was so desperately hiding.

“No.”

“Yes, you are. I can see it. Which means you were either afraid of the sentinels or—” He actually had to swallow, the truth hitting him with the force of a sledgehammer.

“No!” Charles said emphatically, looking up now. “No, that’s not what I mean.”

Feeling sick and somehow as lifeless as his plastic monsters, Erik strode over to the bay and stretched out his hand. _Wake,_ he ordered, hunting for the slim strands of metal encased within the polymer, finding nothing but dead, inactive material. He dropped his hand. So.

So.

“You removed the metal because you thought I’d use them against you,” he said, turning slowly towards Charles. “You thought I’d try to murder you and the chil—”

“No.” Charles shook his head. “I— Yes, but that’s not how—” He rolled closer and reached out. “Erik.”

Erik stepped back. He was on fire, burning from the inside out and there was no telling what he’d do if Charles touched him. “Were you planning on using them against me?”

“No!” Charles leaned forward and shook his head again, his eyes brimming with distress. “I don’t know! I just knew I had to keep them here. Don’t you understand?”

 _No, I don’t._ “What about that room out there?” He jerked his thumb. “What’s in there?”

Charles sat back and licked his lips. “Cerebro.”

“Show me.”

Without a word, Charles returned to the hall.

Erik steeled himself for more shocks, but even so, when Charles approached the round portal and a blue light streamed forth followed by a metallic voice that said, _‘Welcome, professor,’_ he was startled. He knew Hank was a genius when it came to engineering and machinery but this was beyond anything he thought possible.

“Are you coming?” Charles said, without looking over his shoulder.

He nodded and went inside.

Like the other facility, but much, much larger, the chamber was a vast cell. Paneled in the same material as the corridor, the walls gleamed blue and he could almost feel the echoes of power. A control panel was stationed the end of a long catwalk. Erik took a few steps. Resting on the control panel was a familiar object, much more intricate than that glorified colander with wires that Hank had rigged up all those years ago.

“Would you like to see how it works?”

He looked all around, calculating the time, money and effort that must have gone into building the chamber. To think all this power had been hiding under his feet the whole time… “No. No, I don’t.”

“Erik, you must underst—”

He whipped around, turning on Charles. “I understand that you lied to me all this time.” He took a step. “I understand that I’ve been here, at your side, for almost six months and you said _nothing_.” He took a breath, needing calm; it didn’t help because he suddenly remembered those six months, the waiting, the silent supplication, each day a tightrope walk of exhausting, contrary hope and anxiety. “There was time, don’t tell me there wasn’t.”

Charles said nothing for a long moment and then he nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

Erik smiled; he felt as if his face was cracking in two. “You admit this? That you’re a liar?”

Charles swallowed. “I admit it. I could have told you any number of times but—”

“Don’t tell me: you didn’t because you were waiting for me to leave you.” The words were mocking, cruel, and Erik grinned when they struck home, when Charles’s mouth grew pinched. “The same old refrain.”

“Don’t,” Charles said.

“What’s sauce for the goose, Charles. Your trust has always been conditional.” He took a step closer. “You only trust because you know every thought in every person’s head. Because you control it all.”

“You know that’s not true. I don’t intrude where I’m not wanted. Erik, you kno—”

“I know I trusted you, Charles!”

Charles winced and said silently, _‘I understand, Erik, and I’m so sor—’_

“Get out of my head, Charles!”

Charles jerked, his face paling in the cool blue light. Erik welcomed it, gloried in it. Within seconds, Charles’s presence in his head faded, leaving a hollow nothing. Erik shrugged, embracing that, too. “It’s clear that we’re never going to be on even footing. It’s clear that I don’t belong here. I tried but it’s pointless.” He took a step back. “I’ll leave my car and my things. Do what you will with them.” He turned to the portal, ignoring Charles’s outstretched hand.

“Erik!”

Charles sounded as if he were in pain, as if the words had actually hurt and Erik paused, unable not to. “What?”

“It was because of them, the children. I had to do what I could to protect them from you, from me, from themselves. I _had_ to.”

“Even if it meant I would hate you for it?”

“Yes.” There was the soft sound of rubber on the metal floor. “Don’t you see, Erik? What happens to me, what I _feel—_ it doesn’t matter anymore. I suppose it never really did.”

“And what about what _I_ feel?”

Charles answered, his voice small, “That couldn’t matter, either.”

He stood there, hearing the words, feeling them enter his heart like a shard of jagged metal. He touched the place and felt another much smaller pain—it was Charles’s mark, the bite mark, and he pressed harder, as if that would make it go away. It didn’t of course, and he swept from the room, wishing for his helmet, his robes.

When he got to the lift, he tore the door off and sent it flying down the hall, almost shuddering with pleasure at the horrible sound it made when it hit the wall. He stepped inside and used his power to send the lift up at a breakneck speed, coming to a screeching halt at the main floor. He got out and strode down the hall, blind to everything but rage.

He was running again, this time with black joy. Let Charles have his pain, his endless martyrdom. Let Charles sacrifice and slave for others. He was on to bigger and better things. Cain Marko was still in prison—maybe he’d pay him a visit and show him what true power was, what true pain was. Maybe he’d stop by the CIA and do the same to Moira because she’d always had more of Charles than he ev—

“You’re leaving?”

He stopped so fast his shoes made a sharp, squeaking sound. He turned.

It was Jean, standing in the hall, dressed for bed in a nightgown and robe. She was holding a book to her chest, her mouth open in disbelief.

“I am,” Erik said, his voice rusty as if he hadn’t used it in a decade.

With a flick of the switch, Jean turned on the overhead lights. “Why?”

“Because—” he tried, unable to finish because all of a sudden, he didn’t know, couldn’t explain.

“I heard you,” she said, shrugging as if embarrassed. “I mean, not with my ears.”

“And?”

Jean colored and looked away.

He took a step forward. “Did you know? About the sentinels.”

She shrugged again. “Well, yeah. I mean, I know a lot of things people don’t want me to know.” She blushed again, this time shooting Erik a quick look.

“So you _do_ know about Charles and me,” he said flatly.

“Yeah.” She clutched the book tighter. “I knew before you got here.” She shifted from foot to foot. “I’d hear the professor sometimes in his sleep. He missed you so much and he—” She shifted again. “When you came here, it got better; he got better.”

He blinked. “That changes nothing.”

“I guess,” Jean agreed with a nod, then frowned. “But, doesn’t it? Change things, I mean?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Because,” she continued as if Erik hadn’t spoken, “if someone loved me that much, I don’t think I could ever leave them.”

“You’re young. You’ll learn there’s no such thing as ‘ever.’”

Her frown disappeared, making way for a measuring, judgmental stare. “And Suzy? She didn’t get to say goodbye to her mom and dad and now you’re bailing, too?”

“It’s hardly the same thing.”

“It is to her. She loves you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He wasn’t going to feel this pain, he _wasn’t._ “Besides, everyone loses people they love. It’s how it is.”

It was somehow the wrong thing to say and Jean straightened up, her chin at a pugnacious tilt and so much like Charles that it almost made Erik ill.

“When I was little,” she said, “I saw my best friend get hit by a car. She died right in front of me. I don’t know how I did it, but I linked to her, so not only did I see her die, I _felt_ her die and I—” Jean swallowed, her throat working. “One minute she was there, in my head, and the next she was gone. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell her that I—”

Crying now, she seemed suddenly so young and Erik had to stop from reaching out.

“So, yeah,” she added, scrubbing her face with the heel of her hand. “I know what it’s like to lose someone I love. We all do but I don’t get why—” She broke off again, this time shaking her head in confusion.

He hesitated. “Will you say goodbye to Suzy for me?”

Jean drew a sharp breath as if Erik had just struck her. “No. No, I won’t.”

With a small twitch of a shoulder, he left her there. If she tried to stop him, he didn’t hear it, see it, or feel it.

***

He was leaving, he truly was. He was going to fly away and then find a plane or another car or maybe just walk, away from Charles and the things he made him feel.

But, if that were so, why was he sitting on edge of the fountain as if locked in place by the earth itself, staring up at the statue of Athena?

The statue wasn’t anything to write home about. Her face was crumbling with age and a deep fissure bisected her left shoulder as if someone had taken a saw to it. It would be interesting, though, if he could have a chat with the real Athena. She might have some advice on the ephemeral nature of pain, because he _knew_ it was ephemeral. If he left right now, this all-encompassing ache would die an eventual, quiet death. The emptiness in his head and heart would be filled with other, darker things. He might feel some measure of regret at the loss of the latter but that would fade, too, in time. He’d wait it out like he had waited out so many things and—

“It’s chilly out here.”

He didn’t turn.

“I brought you a jacket.”

“I’m fine.”

“All right.”

He strained, waiting for the soft sounds of the wheelchair moving across the flagstone path. Nothing came and he steeled himself for more explanations, more begging. When there was no response, he twisted around.

Charles was a couple meters away. In the cold light of the moon, his skin was colorless, almost as white as the statue. Except for his frosted breath, Erik would think him dead. “What do you want?”

“I know you have to leave,” Charles said, not moving an inch. “I understand. Trust is everything to you and I broke it. But I want to tell you one other thing, show you one other thing. I should have before, but…” He shrugged and gave Erik a weak smile. “It’s not an excuse or a justification.”

“I don’t want anything more from you.”

Charles’s lips tightened, but he just repeated, “I understand. It’s the last thing I’ll ask of you.” He tried to smile. “I’m being selfish, as you’ll soon see.”

Charles’s expression was stark, almost fearful as if he were facing an enemy much stronger and without wanting it, Erik felt the tiniest measure of concern. “I need to go.”

“It won’t take long, I promise.” Charles raised his hand, a tentative gesture. “It’s important to me.”

The same words from before only he’d used them, Charles giving in as always. The memory hurt and Erik growled, “Do it,” really meaning, _‘Let’s get this over with because I can’t stand being around you anymore.’_

“Then…” Charles drew a deep breath and took them both in and like before there was…

… _a confusing moment as Erik reorients himself, as he tries to make sense of what he’s looking at. He’s in a bedroom. There are clothes and books everywhere, crumpled papers on the floor, and empty liquor bottles on the dresser, nightstand and windowsills. The vision is distorted and fuzzy but it’s clear enough that he can see the gray ghost of dust and dirt on every surface. He looks down at his hands; his fingers are long and slender, holding just a glimmer of blue._

_‘Where is our guest?’_

_He spins around in time to see someone enter the room. He doesn’t recognize the man at first and then with a shock that flashes bright in his belly and chest, he thinks,_ ‘Charles?’

 _Charles shuffles in, his head down, his lank, unkempt hair covering his face. He’s wearing a paisley robe that’s ripped, a filthy undershirt, and jeans. The sight is so distressing that Erik gasps and tries to break free. A deep voice, layered beneath a layer, says,_ “Stay. Please.”

_In an instant, the memory strengthens and the vision solidifies as if snapping into place. His mouth opens and he hears himself say, ‘In Scott’s old room. Is that okay?’_

_‘I don’t care.’_

_He’s in Hank’s head and this is Hank’s memory, purloined by Charles. Once more unbidden, he asks, ‘Do you believe him? About being from the future?’_

_Charles picks up a bottle, holds it up to the light, then tosses it on a chair. The bottle rolls to the floor but Charles doesn’t retrieve it. ‘Does it matter what I believe?’_

_Secondhand, Erik feels Hank’s frustration, his all-encompassing worry and grief over what Charles has become. ‘Of course it does.’_

_Charles goes to the shelves and roots around behind a stack of books, fetching a bottle that is half full. He pours whatever it is into a dirty glass and then raises the glass and gives Hank a smile that is completely false. ‘Then, yes, I do.’_

_Hank isn’t satisfied by the answer, the gesture, but he nods anyway and turns to the door. He stops and looks back. ‘Did you mean that?’_

_‘Mean what?’_

_‘What you said about Erik?’ As Hank speaks, a memory of a memory appears, newly minted and still raw, that of Charles downstairs in the hall, saying,_ ‘You don’t know Erik. That man is a monster, a murderer. You think you can convince Raven to change? To come home? That’s splendid. But what makes you think you can change _him?’_

_Erik has never seen Charles so bitter, so unhappy, and an echo of that grief finds its way through the maze of memory he’s treading. Before he can do anything about it, Charles flops down on the sofa that’s covered with clothes. On the coffee table are several syringes and an empty ampoule._

_‘Charles?’ Erik/Hank prods._

_Charles runs a hand through his hair and then looks straight up at Hank. His eyes are wet and his mouth is working. ‘No,’ he finally says. ‘No, I didn’t mean it, but what does it matter? He’s not coming back. He’s not coming home.’_

_The words are said with such absolute finality that Hank has no response. He retreats out of the room and…_

_…and another shift, the vision slipping and reshaping and Erik is now in the hall, disoriented and confused. He looks around but before he can figure out where he is, someone speaks…_

_‘You don’t believe that.’_

_He turns. It’s Charles, sitting by a pillar, his face twisted and somehow hungry._

_‘How do you know?’ he says and he hears the deep voice in his own head. Logan—he’s Logan, now._

_Charles gestures to his legs and then his head, a knowing, sly smile on his lips. ‘As these go, this comes back.’ His smile slips away and he cringes in pain. ‘They all come back.’ He puts his hands over his ears in a childish gesture that stops nothing and Erik shakes his head at the sudden, crawling invasion of greedy minds. It’s no use and they smash through his boundaries, his very self, and he’s choking, drowning, in their anonymous need and anguish. He hates their pain so very much. He hates_ them _so very much. How had he ever thought he’d be strong enough to—_

—with a cry, Erik pulled free, wrenching away from Charles’s remembered torment and this time the reentry into his own mind wasn’t smooth. It fucking hurt and he groaned and pressed his hands against his temples. His head and chest ached and he realized he was weeping, for himself, for Charles.

He’d seen, clear back in May when Charles had shown him that snippet of memory so there was no excuse for this amount of grief. _‘You’re fine,’_ he’d said. _‘You’re not that far gone,’_ he’d said. But that hadn’t been true, had it? While he’d been in prison, Charles had been incarcerated as well, trapped in the wasteland of his own numb mind, lost to himself and those that loved him.

What would have happened if future Charles and future Erik hadn’t sent Logan back? Would Charles now be dead? Would the needle and the bottle eventually have got him? The idea coiled in Erik’s chest, glossy black, and he wanted to object, wanted to shout, _‘No!’_ but couldn’t. Anything was possible, even horribly, finally, that.

He wiped his face and drew a breath that did nothing to cool his hot eyes and throat. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

He looked up. Charles was watching him, his own cheeks damp, his lips pressed tight. After a moment, Erik nodded, silently conceding the point.

Charles always presented himself as a charming open book, on display for all readers, accessible at any time. Nothing could be further from the truth. Charles kept a reserve of himself, a secretive core he held against most, allowing only a select few inside. Raven and Hank were on that list. Erik had been, too. The understanding didn’t make him feel better—it made him feel worse and he repeated, his voice no longer harsh, “You should have _told_ me.”

Charles tipped his head and then nodded, his eyes bleak. “Yes, I should have.” He actually laughed, a sound as brittle as cold iron. “I was ashamed, Erik. I hadn’t been strong enough and I was ashamed. I could barely stand to think of the animal I was back then. How could I ask you to do the same?”

He cocked his head. “You thought I’d be disgusted?”

“Yes.”

Now was the time. Charles was laid bare, at his most vulnerable. With perfect cruelty, Erik would leave, Charles would break and it would be the end of them. Charles would never look to him again for anything, never open up to him ever again. There’d be no more forgiveness, no more cautious olive branches and their love would be devoured by the gluttonous thing that was waiting to reclaim its place within his heart. He could do it, too.

And he would, just get up and go but he couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t even think, his mind blank, useless.

He took a breath and then another, gripping the fountain’s edge so hard that it hurt. The old cement crumbled and gave way, leaving only a handful of rubble and a prickly weed. He yanked the plant free and held it up. Without the aid of the sun, he couldn’t truly see if it was a weed or not, but he thought it might be, that it might be colored a dusty green and have tiny blue flowers along its trailing edge. “That day…” He clenched his fist, struggling for the fleeting memory. “That day.”

“What day? What are y—”

“You came with news of the company,” Erik interrupted, the memory appearing. ‘ _I have something to tell you…’_ “You started to tell me something but David called you in to dinner.”

Charles didn’t move.

Erik looked up. “It was about the sentinels, wasn’t it?”

Charles glanced to the side and then shrugged. “While installing the new computers, Hank discovered what he thought might be the key to making their programming work. He had an idea to use them as training robots for the children. I wanted to ask your opinion.”

“Oh.”

Charles’s smile was thin. “And then I simply forgot. It was so wonderful having you around. When I did remember, I thought about telling you, but it was never the right time and I’d forget again. I’m not sure now if my forgetfulness was intentional or not.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

He looked up. Charles’s expression was no longer bleak but the possibility of it was still there and it came to Erik that if he’d had a line he’d been afraid of crossing, then Charles had one, too. Only Charles’s line hadn’t consisted of anything so facile as pride and stubbornness—it had been by necessity adamant and inviolate, represented by seven vulnerable children. _‘That couldn’t matter, either,’_ he heard again and he understood. He’d once shouldered that same heavy responsibility and though his charges hadn’t been young, look what had happened to them? “Charles?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

Charles drew a quick breath, then came forwards across the uneven ground. “I am, too.”

Gently, Erik set the weed down on the cement and then held out his hand. “I flew off the handle.”

Charles took his hand. “I should have told you.”

“No.” He shook his head. Like a fresh spring breeze, rational thought was returning, cooling the fire of his temper. He gripped Charles’s hand, holding on as if to a lifeline. “I understand why you didn’t. It was right that you didn’t.”

Charles’s mouth twisted. “I’ll do better next time.”

He made himself smile; it was actually hard to do. He’d been so quick to accuse, so eager to pounce… “I will, too.”

“If there is a next time.”

“Knowing us, there will be.”

“I suppose so.”

“We’ll remember tonight and act accordingly.”

Charles bent and kissed the back of Erik’s fingers. “It’s a promise.”

He shivered at the warmth of Charles’s lips. “Are you hungry?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Me neither.” He stood up and put a careful hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Come on.”

***

They went into the house, side by side. He hoped to make it to Charles’s room with no more drama but when they got to the foyer, they found the children on the stairs, all in pajamas, obviously waiting.

Jordan ran to Charles. Suzy burst into tears and ran to Erik. He scooped her up and as usual, she wrapped her little arms and legs around him.

“Jean said you were leaving,” she mumbled into his neck.

“No,” he answered, gathering her close, kissing the top of her head. “I was upset and needed time to cool off,” he added, mostly to Jean. “Everything’s fine.” Suzy’s face was hot and he rubbed his cheek against hers.

“Tessa said those bad men were coming to get us tonight.”

“Tessa,” Charles said over Jordan’s head, his voice tight with exasperation. “We’ve talked about this over and over, yes?”

Tessa’s mouth turned down and Charles sighed and held out his arms. She hurried to him and as if that were the cue, the other children gathered closer, querulously throwing question after question. Jean, Alex and David stayed off to the side. Jean gave Erik a cool, knowing glance that held more than a little forgiveness before going back upstairs. Alex rolled his eyes as if figuratively saying, _‘What the hell, man?’_ and then he and David followed Jean.

Erik turned. Charles was blanketed by children, smiling at him weakly over their heads. “I could use a little help.” _“And the car needs attending to.”_

 _“I’ll take care of it and I’ll fix the lift tomorrow,”_ Erik answered without words, wanting to sigh with relief because his connection to Charles hadn’t been harmed. “Come on,” he said, kissing Suzy once more, then setting her down. He nodded to the rest. “Last one upstairs is a rotten egg.”

With a subdued, collective shout, the children abandoned Charles for the stairs.

Erik followed slowly, pausing on the landing.

Once when he was very young, his parents had taken him on a day trip to visit the Charlottenburg Gate. It had been an exciting day, meant as a treat because his father had come into a little money. Both Erik’s parents had been happy and that happiness had transferred to Erik. He’d darted here and there, being silly just because he could, because it made his mother smile.

Some other kids were playing on the wide stone railing that separated the street from the river below. Emboldened, Erik had followed suit and climbed up, grinning as his father gestured and his mother called out, _‘Komm runter!’_ Thinking to give them a playful fright, he’d stepped closer to the edge. He’d turned to smile back at his parents and lost his balance.

He’d felt that frozen moment for weeks—arms out, head back, trying to stop his fall even as he watched his parent rush towards him. The incident was over in a heartbeat—he regained his balance just as his father grabbed his pant’s leg. His parents had scolded him, then bought him an ice cream from a nearby vendor. They all three sat on a park bench, mood dampened.

It was like that now, Erik thought. He felt exhausted and dazed, hearing the dull echo of his furious words. One stupid move and it all would have been gone. One stupid move and he’d be back to being the person he no longer was.

“Erik?”

He turned. Charles was watching him steadily.

‘ _Go. When you’re done, I’ll be in my room, waiting.’_

Erik nodded once and then went.

 

***

 

October 26, 1974

 

“Any time now!” Erik shouted up the stairs, his patience gone.

“We’re coming!” Jean shouted back.

Erik shook his head and glanced at Hank standing before the foyer mirror. Dressed as Dracula, Hank was still messing with the tall collar. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go as yourself? A blue werewolf would scare the hell out of the trust fund babies.”

Hank frowned and asked mildly, “Why would I want to terrify a bunch of kids?”

“No reason,” Erik answered, just as mildly. These days he was having trouble achieving his usual levels of sarcasm when it came to Hank. He wasn’t sure if it was a byproduct of living hand-in-glove with someone who could read his every thought or because he’d seen firsthand how much Hank cared for Charles.

“Why don’t you try selling your idea to Logan?” Hank jerked his head towards Charles’s study.

Erik followed Hank’s nod to where Charles, Logan, and Alex were still gathered around the desk.

Logan had shown up out of the blue two days before, saying he wasn’t about to miss Halloween if he could help it. The children, of course, were overjoyed. They’d stayed glued to his side through dinner and then after as he told them stories of the great northwest.

Charles broke the party up at nine and escorted the children upstairs. Hank went as well, leaving Erik alone with Logan. Feeling a lovely, mounting glee, he’d insulted Logan and Logan had threatened him. It sadly hadn’t gone much further than that, a rather bland exchange of dislike. For his part, he’d come to terms that Charles would always depend on, and love, Logan. Whether or not Logan understood the same about him was anyone’s guess, but he rather thought it must be so.

Although, Erik supposed, staring moodily at Charles’s happy face, it really didn’t matter because he had more to worry about than an ex- X-man. Halloween hadn’t been the true reason for Logan’s reappearance as they soon found out.

Quietly so the children wouldn’t hear, Logan told of finding a military-style organization secreted in the wilds of Canada. Heading north from Montreal and looking for work, he had crossed paths with a convoy of trucks. Sensing something off, he’d tracked the vehicles, following them north only to lose them in a tunnel near Lac-Saint Louis. He searched for days, finally giving up to return south.

Convinced they were up to no good but unsure where to start investigating, he discovered a truck stop near the original point of contact. He asked around until he found a waitress who remembered the men. All she could tell him was that they were quiet and polite and spoke with American accents. After Logan pressed further, she did say they had insignias on their jackets. She was only able to give Logan a sketchy description, literally, by drawing it on a napkin.

Logan had kept the sketch and had shown it to Charles—both Charles and Erik had been puzzled because neither had seen anything like it. Alex, however, had drawn a quick breath. The emblem, he’d said, was very similar to one worn by the soldiers during that last day in Vietnam.

Not overly concerned, Charles had called Moira and she’d flown up. They had all gathered around the kitchen table that night to discuss the issue. Nothing, of course, had been decided because they had no information and no leads. Moira had said she’d do her part but as she was leaving for an assignment overseas, she wouldn’t have much time to do anything but the most cursory of checks.

It was just as well, Erik had pointed out to Charles as they got ready for bed. They should be the ones to investigate because there was nothing more dangerous than going off half-cocked into a situation one knew nothing about. Charles had responded by raising an eyebrow and saying sweetly that he thought going off half-cocked was Erik’s _modus operandi du jour._ Erik, in turn, had answered that at least he _had_ a methodology and that mixing Latin with French was beyond gauche. Charles had laughed, caught his hand and pulled him down for a kiss.

They’d made love and when they were done, Erik found that his mind was at ease about Moira, but not about Logan. It still wasn’t and he murmured sourly, “Thanks. I think I’ll pass.”

Hank grunted and then craned his neck and called out, “Guys! If you’re not down here in two minutes, I’m gonna tell the professor!”

The threat of Charles got them moving, and within seconds Erik heard the sound of pounding feet.

“Walk, please!” Erik said as Suzy raced down the stairs, two steps at a time. He caught her when she leaped, then set her down to examine her costume.

She’d wanted to go as a fairy princess with a wand and pink slippers. The only problem was that she’d insisted on wearing a cat mask, too. Her rational, as she explained gravely to Erik and Charles, was since fairy princesses were real, then fairy cat princesses had to be real, too. Charles had nodded and told her that he was sure of it and that his mother had worn a cat mask to a party when he was very young. He was certain, he’d added, that he and Erik could find it. Together, the three of them searched through the trunks in the attic. They’d found the mask but it wasn’t, unfortunately, in the best condition—one of the eyeholes was torn and the right ear was missing. Suzy had squealed and put it on; Erik thought the result was a little horrifying.

Suzy, however, loved it and had worn it all day. Later on, Erik asked Charles if they should allow her to wear it beyond the few hours needed for trick-o-treating. Charles had responded, _‘Whyever not? She looks fabulous and she’s happy.’_

Reluctantly, Erik had agreed to the latter though he still winced every time he came across the masked Suzy.

“Here you are,” Charles said, coming to a stop by Erik, his Polaroid in his lap. He smiled at the children, adding, “You all, by the by, look splendid. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, finally,” Erik said, straightening Suzy’s mask. He glanced at Charles, not surprised to see that Charles was still beaming. Earlier that morning, Raven had called and Charles’s joy was like the sun coming out after a week of clouds. His happiness was magnetic, having the effect of making everyone around him happy, too. Even Logan smiled now and then. As for Erik, he’d been angry that Raven had taken so long to call, a reaction that didn’t approach happiness.

Happiness.

Happiness was the ultimate expression of relativity. Suzy’s happiness was the result of decades-old party accessory. Charles’s was the result of his sister calling when she should have long ago. Erik’s own was more simple and absolute, only dependent on his relative position to Charles. When he was near Charles, he was happy, when he wasn’t…

Charles cocked his head. “Is everything okay?” he asked quietly.

Erik smiled blandly. “I’m fine.” He started to step away only to be stopped by a quick touch from Charles.

“Don’t. I want a picture.” Charles held up his Polaroid.

“Yay!” Suzy said, waving her wand. “For your room?”

Charles smiled at them both. “For my room.”

Erik wanted to roll his eyes. He wanted to slug Logan and Hank who were grinning and smirking. Mostly, he wanted to say that he hated having his picture taken, that it was dangerous because it left evidence. But Charles was still smiling and it was impossible to say no to that hopeful look so he called out to the kids, “Come on. If I have to do this, you do, too. When we’re done, you can light the candles.”

The children hurried over, gathering in a tight bunch. Erik, David, Jean, and Alex were in the back, the rest were in front. They actually managed to hold still while Charles took too many pictures, laying each square of film on his lap to keep them from sticking together. When he was done, Erik let Suzy down and the children ran to the drawing room to light the pumpkins.

“Hold on,” Logan said, gesturing for the camera. “Now you and Charles.”

Erik sighed but Charles raised his eyebrows again, asking silently, _‘Please?’_

After a moment, Erik nodded, then found a seat on the stairs near the newel post. Charles wheeled as close as possible and they turned to Logan. It was an odd moment, a public but not obvious display of who they were together. A normal couple, a man and a woman, would hold hands or at least touch. But they weren’t normal and no amount of pretense would make it so. Still, at the last moment, right as Logan said, “Here we go,” Erik leaned forward to press his arm against Charles’s.

Logan took three photos, then gave the camera and the pictures to Charles. “I’m gonna pull the truck around front.”

“You’re taking just the older kids, yes?”

“Yep.” Logan turned to the front room and called out, “Jean! David! You’re with me!”

Charles watched as Jean and David ran after Logan, then turned to Erik. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come along? It really is fun.”

Erik picked up the photos and set them on the side table in a neat line. “Trolling your rich neighbors for sweets is hardly what I’d call a good time.”

“You know it’s so much more than that. It’s one of the few times they can feel like other kids.” Charles paused, then added softly, “It’s not a crime to want to fit in, Erik.”

“I know.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

“I’ll do that.”

Charles reached out and brushed his fingers against Erik’s, then turned away. “Alex? Hank? Let’s go.”

***

After everyone was gone, Erik went to the kitchen. A few weeks ago, Charles had been telling Dani and Tessa what it had been like to grow up in such a big house, of the parties his parents had held and the holiday traditions. He’d said their cook had made gingerbread men for Christmas, hot cross buns for Easter, and candy apples for Halloween. Charles’s expression and tone had been so wistful that Erik had decided to surprise him. On the sly, he’d gone to the market in Danbury and purchased apples, packaged caramel and little wooden sticks.

The woman at the market had made it sound easy but as Erik looked at the recipe on the back of the package, he began to have doubts. He didn’t even know if Charles had a double boiler, much less how to use one. He ferreted around, finally finding two pots that nested together in the back of the cupboard. Using the pictures on the package, he figured out what he needed to do and began.

He wasn’t much for cooking but he enjoyed unwrapping the caramel and preparing the apples. It was almost meditative, watching the caramel warm and dissolve. The recipe suggested dipping the finished apples in nuts but he didn’t have any and he wasn’t that fond of them, anyway.

The execution proved the hardest thing and he decorated the counter with strings of caramel before he figured out how to do it just right. He was on his last apple when his mind strayed and he thought about Charles and Raven, growing up in this monstrosity of a house. What would Raven do if she saw him right now? Would she try to kill him or just kick him out?

Neither, he supposed grimly—she’d just laugh herself sick and ask what the hell had happened to him, the terrifying Magneto?

 _‘Charles happened to me,’_ he’d answer, _‘just as he happened to you.’_

It was a comforting thought and he wasn’t surprised when he felt the pressure of Charles’s mind a few seconds later.

_‘Are you all right?’_

Erik tried to block what he was doing from his mind’s eye but probably wasn’t successful as he murmured, “I’m fine.”

_‘Good. We are, too. We’ll be home in an hour.’_

“I’ll be here.”

 

***

The children were properly surprised when they saw the apples. Charles was, as well, and he rolled up to the table, eyebrow raised. “You did these all yourself? They look delicious. What a treat. Mind you, it’s almost bedtime, but the children can split one.” Amidst the half-hearted groans Charles added, “And make sure you brush your teeth. I don’t want any of you getting cavities.”

The children, surprisingly, didn’t complain further and waited while Erik picked up a knife and cut one of the larger apples in neat sections.

“We’ll put the rest in the fridge,” Charles said. “That’s best, anyway.”

“Can we keep our candy with us?” Tessa asked while Eric put the apples in the refrigerator.

Charles peered at her. “Do you have any left?”

She rolled her eyes. “Professor,” she said, drawing out the last syllable.

Jean stood up and held out her hand. “I’ll make sure they don’t eat too much.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Charles turned to Danielle. “Dani, did you have fun?”

Danielle nodded, her black hair glinting in the low light.

“I was thinking you and I could work together tomorrow. Would that be acceptable?”

Danielle nodded again, only this time she smiled, a first as far as Erik knew.

“Then, goodnight everyone.” Charles smiled at the kids. “Please don’t get up in the middle of the night to eat your sweets. I’ll know if you do.”

Tessa and Suzy exchanged a look and followed the other children out the door.

“You do realize those two are already planning how they’re gonna finish off their candy before dawn, don’t you?” Logan asked.

Erik went to the sink and began to do the dishes. “I’ll go up in a minute and remind them that Charles knows all and sees all.”

Charles frowned. “You make me sound like the bogeyman.”

“If the shoe fits,” Erik replied with a smirk.

“I’ll go with you,” Logan said out of the blue. “If the thought of Charles isn’t enough, I’ll scare it out of them.”

Charles backed his chair up. “While you’re doing that, can you make sure the candles in the pumpkins are out?”

“I’ll do it,” Hank said around a bite of apple. “I need to check my lab, anyway.”

“Anything the matter?” Charles asked with a frown.

Hank shrugged. “No. I wanted to show the kids those magnesium candles I made and when I went to get them, the door to the lab was open.” He threw the apple core in the trash. “I probably just forgot to lock it.”

Erik finished scrubbing the pot and put it on the cloth to dry. “Maybe it was the wind.”

“Maybe it was a ghost,” Logan added. “This house is creepy enough.”

Charles raised his eyebrow, clearly affronted. “This house is not creepy and I do not have a ghost.”

Logan grinned. “My mistake.” He picked up the last piece of apple. “Besides, if anyone could tell, it would be you.”

Charles said, “Hmph,” his back ramrod straight.

It was almost cute, Charles’s air of insulted annoyance and if Hank and Logan weren’t standing right there, Erik would kiss him until Charles had lost his breath and his smile had returned. But Hank and Logan _were_ standing right there, so he just hung the kitchen towel on the stove and said to Logan, “I’m going upstairs.”

Logan finished the apple and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’m right behind.”

***

They went upstairs together. Logan checked in on the boys, while Erik checked on the girls.

They met back up at the top of the stairs and were heading down when Logan stopped Erik with a hand on his arm and a low, “Hey.”

He glanced down at Logan’s hand. “Yes?”

Logan let go. “About this organization up north…”

“Yes?” Erik repeated when Logan didn’t finish.

Logan pressed his lips together, then said, “I know Charles believes me, but he doesn’t really, you know?”

He nodded reluctantly. That conundrum was Charles in a nutshell. “Are you’re thinking they might be connected to the assault a few months ago?”

Logan shrugged and leaned against the balustrade. “I don’t know. It’s just…” He shook his head and frowned. “They speak with American accents, they’re wearing uniforms of the same covert group that tried to abduct Summers, and they’re operating on Canadian soil—it doesn’t add up, you know?”

Erik made a face. “‘Abduct’ is a strong word considering the army basically handed them over.”

“Yeah, and if it hadn’t been for Raven—”

“Yes,” Erik murmured, conceding Logan’s point, because it _was_ odd. “I gather you’re not going to do as Charles suggested?”

“I’m not any good at ‘wait and see,’” Logan answered with a sly smirk. “I’m gonna go back up there and find out what’s going on. With that many men, there has to be some kind of base or installation.”

“Charles won’t be pleased.”

Logan pushed away from the balustrade “No, he won’t be.” Before Erik could answer, Logan added, “Look, see if you can work your magic—convince Charles to at least investigate.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’ll be able to succeed where you failed? All that time at high altitudes has made you crazy.”

Logan snorted and took a step down. “And you’re crazy if you don’t think Charles listens to you.” Another step. “It was a shock by the way, you still being here.” Logan started down the stairs, adding without looking around, “I bet good money that you would have run a long time ago.”

***

Erik returned to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, still thinking on Logan’s words. The last comment clearly meant that Logan and Hank had been gossiping and hyperbole aside, had even laid wages. It was maddening, as were the twin ideas that an army was forming under their very noses and that Charles was refusing to take it seriously. Distance had insulated Charles from the rise of the Nazi party but Erik would never forget. He had watched as his parents’ initial concern grew to outright fear, as minor restrictions became rules and then law. He’d lived through that—he wasn’t going to live through it again.

But how to convince Charles? No matter what Logan said, it was a next-to-impossible task and he pondered his options as he carried the tea to his room and then through the connecting door.

Charles was already sitting in bed and though he had a book open, he was clearly waiting. He nodded to the cup in Erik’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“No. I suddenly had a craving for revolting chamomile tea.” Erik gave Charles the cup, careful not to spill.

“It’s not revolting,” Charles said, eyes closed as he breathed in the scent. “It’s heaven.”

Erik went to the dresser. He still had clothes and books in his own bedroom, but his good things, his necessary things were in this room. They’d told the children that he was moving downstairs to help Charles should the need arise. The younger children, of course, had believed it. Jean and Alex, however, had looked askance but had said nothing. He wondered, suddenly, if Raven knew and he asked the question he’d been putting off for hours, “How is she?”

“Who?”

Charles had brought one of the Poloroids with him; it was next to the lamp. Erik picked it up. It was one of the last ones, of just Charles and him. Charles looked happy, of course. He, on the other hand, was staring, a little grim as if wondering when the ax was going to fall. “You know who.”

“She’s fine,” Charles answered. “Happy that I’m taking on students again. Upset that you’ve come to stay.”

“What a surprise.” He set the photo down and got out a pair of pajamas from the drawer.

“I probably shouldn’t have told her. She doesn’t understand.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Did you tell her everything?”

Charles shook his head. “Of course not. I’m saving that conversation for later.”

He was suddenly angry. “You should tell her. She can handle the truth.”

Raising an eyebrow, Charles answered mildly, “She was in love with you. When I tell her, it will be done delicately. I won’t hurt her.”

“When she finds out, she’s going to be hurt no matter how you say it.” Charles didn’t reply and Erik closed the drawer gently, really wanting to slam it. “When are you ever going to see her for the woman she is?” He turned. Charles had set the cup down and was watching him with sad eyes. “She’s not a child, Charles.”

Charles nodded and said quietly, “I know.”

The soft agreement took some of the wind out of Erik’s sails. “I’m sorry.” He tossed the pajamas on the bed. “I should have said that.” He pulled off his jumper and began to unbutton his shirt.

“Give me—” Charles held his hand out for Erik’s jumper. “Mine, too. I forgot again.”

Erik went to the chair that was covered in Charles’s clothes and gathered it all up. He tossed the pile on the bed and then went to the bathroom to wash his face and teeth.

They had a routine culminating from an understanding and perfected over two months of adjustments and after more than a few disagreements: Erik would wear pajamas as a nod to discretion and Charles wouldn’t be so messy in the bedroom. That meant no papers strewn everywhere and clothes properly folded and put away each night. Charles tended to forget but a reminder usually did the trick. It was just one change among many.

When Erik returned from the bathroom, Charles had folded their clothes and stacked them on the bed. They weren’t perfect but he didn’t comment as he put them away. “Where is she?”

“I’m not sure. She was in Vienna for the day but might already be on her way to Germany. She wanted to talk to me about this man that’s kidnapping mutants and making them fight for their freedom.” Charles picked up his teacup. “It’s disgusting.”

“She’ll take care of it.”

Charles nodded. “I hope so. I asked her about Petra. It will be winter soon. I don’t want that poor girl out there in the cold.”

“What did she say?”

“That she’d think about it. If she finds out that Moira is involved, she won’t come.”

“She hates her that much?”

Charles shrugged. “She still blames Moira for my injury.”

Too familiar with that particular variety of dislike, Erik said nothing as he locked both doors with a wave of his hand and then retrieved the photo and set it on the stand next to the bed. He got into bed and lay back. So good. It felt so good to be off his feet, to be here next to Charles. Winter, as Charles had said, was coming and it was starting to get cold. He pictured it, snug in this bed with Charles while heavy snow fell outside.

And a growing number of children housed not five meters above. “Are you tired?”

“A little.”

He nodded, expecting the answer. They didn’t make love every day. “About today—”

“Hm?”

“Earlier—I heard what Raven said to you.” He’d gone in to ask Charles about breakfast only to find him on the telephone. Charles had given him a bright smile and a silent hello followed by an echo of his conversation with Raven. “About me, I mean.”

Charles’s expression grew remorseful. He set the tea on the nightstand and inched down until he was under the bedclothes and on his side. He slipped his arm over Erik’s chest. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t careful. I was just so happy.”

Erik rubbed the back of Charles’s hand. “I know.”

“What did you hear? The part about how she thinks that I can’t trust you or the part about changing spots?”

“The latter,” he said dryly. He hadn’t heard the first part, which was just as well, though he supposed it came to the same thing.

“What of it?”

“Aren’t you worried about it? That I might hurt you or the children?”

“No.”

“Just like that?” he said, a familiar bitterness creeping in. He could still hear Raven’s sharp words: _‘What are you thinking, Charles? You’ll never be able to trust him! He’s a killer and he always will be.’_

“Yes, just like that.”

“Charles—”

Charles squeezed Erik’s hand. “I thought we were done with all that. Do you honestly think I’d have you in my bed if I were worried about you? Never mind me—I would never put the children in such danger. You know that.”

Erik nodded thoughtfully. “So you do think that change, _real_ change, is possible?”

Charles sighed. “You make it sound as if change is just something you _do,_ and if you can’t do it the once, then all is lost _._ The first step may be intentional and dramatic, but all the little steps after are anything but. True change is infinitesimal and cautious. True change can’t be measured by anything but the results.” He rubbed his cheek on Erik’s chest. “I think we are who we were as children and—”

“That’s a scary thought.”

Charles pinched him, smiling when Erik muttered, _“Ow.”_ “No, I mean, not you as the scared boy in that camp, but the child you were with your parents. They loved you and you loved them. You were happy. That’s the person you’ll always be.”

He thought about that, hearing the whisper of truth in Charles’s words, tone, and inner thoughts.

“Erik?”

“Yes?”

Charles began fiddling with one of Erik’s pajama buttons. “About Raven…”

“What about her?”

“This is her home. I’m hoping that if and when she comes back, you two will get along.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Charles smiled, but in a forgiving way as if he’d heard Erik’s unspoken reservations. “But, if that’s not possible, I’m going to suggest that she find accommodations elsewhere.”

Erik froze, hardly breathing, shocked into speechlessness.

Charles shrugged sadly. “She made her choice. I made mine and I won’t give you up. She and I will both need to live with that.” He pushed Erik’s mouth closed. “You’ll catch flies.”

He didn’t know what to say. As unpleasant as it was, he’d always accepted that Raven came first in all things. To have that upended so suddenly… It was extraordinary, the gift Charles had just given him and he could do nothing but answer it with one of his own, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

The smile on Charles’s face was blinding and he stretched up, kissing Erik again and again. “Erik, thank you. Thank you.”

He wanted to say something about Raven and his own intentions but Charles’s fingers and thoughts were busy, unbuttoning Erik’s pajamas and broadcasting a happiness so bright that Erik could do nothing but respond in kind. “I thought you were tired?” he teased.

“I said a little,” Charles answered, nosing his way down Erik’s throat. “Not _no,_ or _later,_ or anything of the—”

Erik shut Charles up by grabbing him in a strategic location, grinning when Charles yelped and then sighed.

***

They made love, Charles on his belly, Erik on top. When the crucial moment came, he clutched Charles’s hands and gasped, “Charles?”

Just like that, they were out of the dark and into the golden light. When Erik came, Charles was in his lap, shuddering with pleasure, his head bowed as if in prayer.

***

As usual, Charles grew lax and sleepy the moment after his release. Murmuring something to the effect of, ‘…so amazing…’ he closed his eyes and drifted off.

Following his own habit, Erik got the washcloth from the bathroom and cleaned them both. He retrieved his pajamas and underwear from where Charles had thrown them—the top on the bed and the rest on the floor—and then dressed again. Before getting into bed, he went to the window and pulled the curtains apart.

It had been cloudy for days and there was no moon to be seen. Across the empty lawn, he could just make out the tip of the lake and beyond that, the woods. Nearby, the branches of the black trees moved and swayed from the invisible wind. It was the perfect night for ghosts and goblins and he suddenly regretted not going out with the children. Next year, he promised himself, next year.

He closed the curtains, leaving a gap because Charles always liked the morning sun on his face, even if it was only pale and scattered.

After setting Charles to rights, Erik slid into bed and pulled up the covers. Carefully, he arranged Charles so he was facing the windows, then spooned up behind and wrapped an arm over his waist. He sighed.

Fate. Change.

He had never believed in either, unable to reconcile with the former because that meant his mother had been fated to die because of his own weakness. Because it had meant it had been his fate to spend most of his life hunting down the men that had caused him and his people such pain. He’d never been big on change, either, because you were who you were—it was as simple as that.

But now, now he wasn’t quite so sure and he pondered all the ‘ifs.’

If he hadn’t been hunting Shaw, he would have never met Charles. If Logan hadn’t come back from the future, Charles might be dead. If Charles had died, then the children upstairs and the children yet to be found would be left on their own, forced to face whatever life and fate handed out. And what about the humans that felt sympathy and brotherhood for the plight of the mutants? Erik hated it, but he was starting to feel an edge of empathy for them. People like Ken and even Moira—they deserved to be safe, they deserved to be happy.

The latter two ‘ifs’ could still happen. If fate was like a wild fire that darted this way and that, scorching one only to turn on another, yes, it could still happen. Maybe he should go to Canada with Logan. Maybe it would be wise to find out just who—

“Stop,” Charles mumbled, waking enough to stroke Erik’s hand. _‘Erik, stop. It will be all right. We’ll be all right. Just sleep now, sleep with me.”_

He sighed and then closed his eyes and let Charles draw him in, ignoring the shadows that shivered against the dark windowpanes.

 

___________________________

 

Coda

_1962_

 

The house was quiet as Charles climbed the stairs. He listened as his new guests tossed and turned in their beds. Raven, long used to the creaks and groans of the mansion, had fallen asleep immediately but the others were all awake. Alex was sitting up, resting back against the headboard, arms curled around his middle as if that would make the pain of losing Armando go away. Angel was staring up at the ceiling, thinking she’d made a big mistake. Hank was busy writing a list of all the equipment he was going to need.

Charles hesitated, then put his finger to his temple and suggested, _‘Sleep. No one will harm you here.’_

Within seconds they had all closed their eyes, their waking minds finally relaxing.

All except one, but that was to be expected. Erik was stubborn and strong-minded—he saw sleep as an inconvenient act, only performed when absolutely necessary. He was sitting on the window seat, wondering why he was there and not out hunting for Shaw.

Smiling softly, Charles knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened.

Erik hadn’t dressed for bed although he’d taken off his footwear. His feet, Charles’s wasn’t surprised to find, were long and beautiful.

“Yes?” Erik said after a moment.

Charles shrugged. Oddly enough he was nervous, a surprise as this had been on the horizon for weeks. Now that it was here, however… “I was wondering if you’d like a drink. My room is right next to yours and I have a particularly good cognac I’ve been saving for a special occasion.” Such a stupid line and he smiled, glancing quickly at the bed, only yards away.

Erik hesitated, giving Charles a fast up and down that was unmistakable. He took a breath and then murmured, “Thank you, no. I’m a little tired from the drive.”

“Ah,” Charles said, keeping his expression pleasant, his tone casual. It hurt, Erik’s refusal. “It’s been a long day.”

Erik nodded. “Yes, it has.”

“And we’re going to have a longer one tomorrow, what with the training and all.”

“No doubt.”

Unable to do anything else, Charles nodded and stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Erik answered, closing the door.

Well. So much for that, Charles thought, turning to his own room. He’d been so sure…

It was okay. It would be all right. He knew Erik was attracted to him. He’d just have to be patient. Erik had been through so much and was distrustful of everyone, especially himself. He would soon understand that this house was a haven, a sanctuary. He would learn to trust, learn to come out from behind that wall he was forever hiding behind.

It would be all right, Charles thought again, this time believing his own assurances. Even given current events, it would happen if he just waited, if he was patient.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

 

_fin_


	2. Notes: Der Reisende am Wegesrand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes for Der Reisende am Wegesrand

Warning:  _Der Reisende am Wegesrand_ hasn’t been edited by anyone other than yours truly. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone to read it over so Caveat emptor and all that.

The title, _Der Reisende am Wegesrand_ , comes from a poem by Else Lasker-Schüler. She wrote: _'Ich bin dein Wegrand'_ (I am your wayside) in _Höre_ and I just loved the imagery. I recommend her poems—they're beautiful.

I started writing this story in 2013 but it really didn’t get going until after Days of Future Past. The story takes place a year after DoFP and is based on that timeline, though I’ve pulled bits from other sources such as the original comics, the cartoons from the 90s, and Wikipedia. I added a few bits after seeing _Apocalypse_. For what it’s worth, I haven’t seen the extended version of DoFP, so this story might conflict with that version.

In terms of the characters’ powers, I chose to remain within the limits of the reboot movies so no astral projection for Erik. The children are pulled from the above sources though I’ve changed a few things like race and age. I’ve also expanded on the movie canon. The Xavier mansion, for example, is slightly different from the movies. I’ve also expanded on Charles’s and Erik’s mental connection because I figured what the hell. The books referenced in the story have connections to the actors but I chose them because of their popularity at the time.

I have a much shorter sequel in the works that will focus on Alex and Armando.

 

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_**The children in order of age:**_

Jordan Lewis (Gloom), just under 10

Suzanne Chen (Sway) is 10

Tessa (Sage) is 13

Danielle Moonstar is 14

Douglas Ramsey (Cypher) is 14

Jean Grey (Marvel Girl) is 16

David Alleyne (Prodigy) is 17

 

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_**Translations:**_

“Voulez-vous un autre, monsieur?”      “Do you want another, sir?”

“L’addition, s’il vous plaît.”      “The check, please”

“Où allez-vous?”      “Where are you going?”

“Ma maison. Je dois travailler.”      “My house. I must work.”

“Vraiment? C’est encore tot.”      “Truly? It’s still early.”

“C’est ça.”      “That’s it.”

“La vie d’un professeur.”      “The life of a professor.”

“Exactement.”      “Exactly.”


End file.
